


Like Never Before

by Kantrips



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, But mostly just mutual pining and sickening fluff, Cliche Bonanza, F/M, First Love, First Time, Fluff, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Humor, Idiots in Love, Libraries, Meet-Cute, Pining, Pro-Alistair being loved and supported, Self-Indulgent Trope Fest, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, anti-eamon, some drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:29:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 129,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23892367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantrips/pseuds/Kantrips
Summary: Alistair rescues a cat and somehow tumbles head first into a whirlwind of events including meeting an estranged half-brother, mysterious death threats, international tensions and the politics of bickering scholars. Not to mention extremely confusing feelings about a neighbour he is suddenly spending far too much time with.
Relationships: Alistair/Cousland (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Cousland (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Alistair/Warden (Dragon Age)
Comments: 145
Kudos: 104





	1. Assistance Rendered

It wouldn’t be right to intervene. It wasn’t Alistair’s place to go sticking his nose into other people’s problems.

Only it must have been going on for a couple of hours now so it was difficult to not be curious. Concerned even. He wasn’t made of stone after all.

Alistair first heard the commotion before leaving for a run: a woman’s voice rising and falling in an agitated tone. His neighbour, and out on her balcony by the sounds of it. Some instinct gave him pause when the noise first caught his attention, but he quickly quelled his desire investigate. It was probably a personal argument and how would a stranger barging in improve things? She was very new to the building and he didn’t know her at all beyond the occasional shared lift ride in which each became suddenly fascinated by their laundry, or their phone, or the button panel…

Alistair sighed. That wasn’t entirely true. She had actually spoken to him once and he had been so stunned he nearly forgot to respond. From a more rural area he suspected, yet to have the open friendliness sucked out of her by the anonymous city where everyone was blank faced and unresponsive. It was a lesson Alistair had quickly learned himself when he first moved to Denerim: don’t greet strangers or they will immediately put a defensive hand on their bag and stare at you like you’re a dangerous criminal.

Not her though. She obviously hadn’t got the memo yet. Not even realising she was there, he had been startled when unlocking his door by an enthusiastic, _“Hello!”_ from up the corridor. In fact, Alistair had been so unprepared that he had replied with an unintentionally hostile, _“Yes?”_ Her smile had disappeared and he could almost see the shutters close in her eyes as she muttered, _“Never mind”_ , retreating into her own apartment before he could compose himself and show some civility.

That put her well and truly off trying that ‘chatting’ thing with him again. Every time he formulated a fresh greeting or apology he lost his nerve when she wouldn’t even make eye contact. Which he was a little disappointed by truth be told, though he could hardly blame her. Maker, he had only been in Denerim a couple of years and he was becoming one of _them_. An unfriendly, aloof, craft beer drinking city dweller. Maybe he should just bite the bullet and buy one of those puffy vests everyone seemed to have conspired to start wearing at the same time. If he ever went back to Redcliffe they’d never let him live it down.

So maybe it was because it really was none of his business, or maybe it was because he was still embarrassed by their last, failed attempt at an interaction, but either way: Alistair chose to ignore the exasperated yells from next door and went for his run instead.

He had not expected the argument to still be in full swing when he returned. Still trying to ignore it, he showered and changed before giving in to the temptation of his own curiosity. Creeping to his balcony door he opened it a crack and concentrated on the yelling.

“Please, I’ll do anything. Just please don’t do this!” Her voice was hoarse. “Don’t do this to me! I still love you! I’m sorry I said what I said - I was just frightened. I can’t…” her pleading trailed off. Alistair couldn’t hear the other person’s response. His spine was stiff with worry and he exhaled carefully, so as to not miss any of the exchange from the sound of his own breathing. Maybe he should call the police? He nearly leapt out of his skin as she let out a sudden yell: “No don’t! Not that way! STAY THERE!”

Finally feeling forced into action, he wrenched open his balcony door and in a couple of steps was at the railing, peering around, bracing for what he might see.

But she was…alone? Who in the name of Andraste was she talking to? He couldn’t see a phone. Had someone locked her outside? Was that the problem? But she wasn’t facing the balcony door, she was looking up. Was she having an existential crisis and engaging in some kind of deranged dialogue with the Maker?

She put her hands to her face, gasping as if reacting to someone speaking but still there was no sign of another person. Alistair braced himself, already feeling like he was making a mistake. The first rule of living in Denerim was to mind your own business. When would he learn?

Not today apparently.

He leaned on the railing and cleared his throat. Then, as casually as he could manage in the peculiar circumstances said, “Excuse me? Can I uh…Do you need a hand with anything?”

Spinning to face him, the woman greeted Alistair’s interruption with a slack-jawed look of shock. Her sweater was askew, her hair wildly dishevelled and her face was pink as if she had been running. Or crying. She was unquestionably pretty, despite looking so…unhinged. Poor girl must have cracked, absolutely lost her marbles, he decided. But when she spoke to him, she sounded utterly normal, albeit exhausted. “Was I making too much noise? I’m sorry.”

“No. Well yes actually, but not exactly…” He cleared his throat again. “It sounded like you might need some help.”

“Help? You want to help me?” she said doubtfully.

True, her lasting impression of him was the unfriendly neighbour who had brushed off her casual greeting like it was lint on his sleeve but she still seemed a little _too_ amazed by his offer. Something wasn’t adding up. “Look, maybe I could call someone for you? Do you have a friend, or a family member nearby that could…?” Could what? He had no idea. Escort her to the nearest mental hospital?

“Could what?” she asked a bit peevishly, echoing his thoughts as if she had read his mind.

Alistair raised his hands defensively. “Sorry, I just didn’t know if there was something I could do. You sounded upset.”

She sighed deeply, curling her hair behind her ears. “Sorry. I’m a little stressed out.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” he said with an uncomfortable laugh, before immediately regretting it and quickly following up with, “I really mean it. Let me know what I can do to help.”

“I don’t think there is anything you _can_ do. Unless you have better feline negotiation skills than me.”

“Feline negotiation…?” Did she think she was a cat? He had seen the last twenty minutes of a documentary on something like this but that had hardly equipped him for the present conversation.

With another sigh, she pointed up towards the decorative cornices that ran around the roof of their building. As they were on the top floor, these were situated directly above their balconies. Finally, he saw it: a swishing cat tail. She was talking to a cat. She had been talking to a cat for three hours. Great, that was a relief. A solid, rational explanation. Right? He wasn’t certain but it did seem slightly better than all his previous assumptions. “My friend must have left the balcony door open a crack and he snuck out. Now he can’t get down.”

Alistair shrugged. “Sure he can. He got up there didn’t he?”

The woman gave him a furious look. “He’s not used to heights! We’ve never lived upstairs before. It’s been hours and he won’t budge, not even for food. It’s not like him!” she said with the voice of an admonishing school teacher.

Another misstep on his part: don’t question a cat owner on the topic of their pet’s capabilities. “Okay, but if you give it some more time he might just…” Alistair mimed a little jump which made the woman recoil in horror.

“We’re six storeys up! What if he misses?”

“Fine.” Alistair sized up the balcony railing behind him. “Maybe I could reach if I climbed up: he is closer to my side…” He pushed on the railing to see if it would take his weight.

“No! Absolutely not! It is way, way too dangerous. Don’t you dare!”

He would have done it but Maker was he glad she had told him not to. “I have a friend with ladder,” he tried.

“Oh? It’s still a bit risky. And I would rather do it. Mittens doesn’t like strangers.”

“Mittens?” Alistair laughed.

“I’ve had him since I was young,” she snapped.

“The ladder,” Alistair said, changing the topic, “It would take a while to get it here.” She looked disappointed but they both knew she was hardly in a position to make demands. “Wait a second!” he slapped his forehead and seeing her confusion, had no time to respond before he ran from his balcony, through his apartment and into the hall, only stopping to grab a small ring of keys from a kitchen drawer on the way.

At the opposite end of the corridor from the lifts, there was a discrete door which he was able to unlock after flipping through a few of the keys. Up a narrow concrete staircase and through another locked door, Alistair finally emerged onto the roof. Surprised by the wind he staggered a little but quickly found his footing, making his way to the correct side of the building. A quick glance over the side confirmed the location of the troublesome cat.

Not long after Alistair had moved into this building, they had installed safety railing around the edge of the roof. Unwilling to risk climbing over it, Alistair instead lay flat on his stomach and edged underneath the bottom rung, ignoring the uncomfortable grating sensation as his shirt rode up and the metal pole dug into his back. Looking up, the woman next door noticed him for the first time and her eyes widened with concern. “Be careful!” she yelled.

“It’s fine,” he replied in a strained voice, hopefully convincing her even if his pulse was thudding loudly in his ears from the sight of drop. He wasn’t far over the edge but staring down at the comically small traffic and pedestrians bustling in the street below made him dizzy. He belatedly wished he had tied his feet to something. The cat shrank away from his early attempts to get hold of it but with a surge he finally grasped it firmly and wrenched it up, trying to be gentle but terrified by the thought of accidentally letting it drop. As he scooted back from the edge and drew it closer it howled and hissed in protest, finally lashing out with claws extended when his face was in reach. Alistair flinched away but didn’t loosen his grip, pulling the yowling animal to safety. He bundled it up in his shirt to minimise what damage it could do and made a brief attempt to soothe the animal before realising it was safer to just get it inside. For both of them.

Downstairs, Alistair knocked on the woman’s door, cat held carefully and triumphantly before him. “Mittens!” she half sobbed and snatched the cat out of his arms as if she was worried he was going to attempt to steal the horrid creature. “Mittens never do that again,” she told the cat without any true admonishment in her tone, briefly burying her face in his fur.

“You weren’t kidding about him not liking strangers were you.”

She suddenly registered his appearance with horror. “Maker! Your face is bleeding! No scratching Mittens! Very bad!” she said, belatedly reprimanding the cat who stared at Alistair with a smug lack of remorse.

“It’s fine it’s only a little…” he touched the scratch and looked at his fingers, “Quite a lot of blood actually. Wow.”

“Let me…” she put the cat down and turned to look around the apartment. Mittens, apparently thrilled to be released, fled in a streak of tabby fur directly up the bookcase and curled himself on top of it.

“No, it’s fine honestly,” Alistair tried to reassure her.

“I have a first aid kit somewhere. Though maybe I haven’t unpacked it yet.” That seemed likely as Alistair looked past her: there were a lot of boxes strewn higgledy-piggledy about her living area, some ripped open with the contents evidently dug through then abandoned. She was either even messier than he was or she hadn’t had time to settle in properly. “It’s in a box. I just can’t think _which_ box,” she said, casting another worried glance at his face.

“It’s really nothing. Won’t kill me.”

“At least…” She groped about the clutter on her bench, tearing off a few pieces of kitchen towel. Walking back hurriedly, she reached out to wipe the blood off his cheek before frowning and stopping herself, holding the towel out to him instead. “At least take these.”

“Thanks,” he said and staunched his own wound before they fell into an embarrassed silence.

She chewed her lip. “I really can’t thank you enough. How did you even get onto the roof?”

“I was looking for some extra money when I moved here. I used to do some maintenance and gardening work for the building on the side. Just helping out the caretaker.” She looked confused. “Rail painting, tree pruning, stair sweeping: all the fun stuff. Guess I never gave the roof key back after I last used it. Good thing too,” he grinned.

“Very industrious of you. So you’re not from around here originally?”

“No. Redcliffe. Moved for a job.” That part was true.

“What kind of job?”

“Administration.” That part was less true. Duncan had offered him a role with Warden Watch, a private security outfit and of course he had said yes, ditching country life and boarding school for the thrills and spills of what he had naively assumed would basically involve being a spy. Only when he had arrived, Duncan had him languishing in an office night and day, filing records and sometimes watching absolutely nothing happen on security monitors. _“Learning the ropes”_ was always Duncan’s excuse but Alistair always wondered if it had more to do with wanting to keep him out of harm’s way. “And you? Your work?”

“Oh, work? I’m studying, kind of. It’s a research project. I’m working from the University Library.”

“Neat.” He didn’t know what else to say so added, “Books,” and then wanted to bang his head against the wall.

“Yep.” She gave him a curious look: Alistair assumed trying to figure out if there were more than two braincells rattling around in his empty skull but instead she asked, “Have you ever been to Highever before?”

“Nope. I've heard it’s nice.”

She laughed. “It is. I just have the strangest feeling I’ve met you before.”

“I must have one of those faces.”

“I’m not sure you do,” she said, still looking at him with intense concentration. Alistair became aware of his ears getting very hot. “But I must be mistaken.” There was a long silence. “Would you like to –”

Unintentionally cutting her off Alistair said, “Speaking of work, I’d better go.”

“A night shift? In administration?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “Welcome to Denerim.”

She laughed. “I still have a lot to learn clearly. Thanks again. So much.”

“No worries, any time. In fact, I think Mittens is warming to me already,” Alistair said, lifting away the paper towel to examine the blood on it. He turned to leave. “I’ll uh, see you around…the hall and the lift probably.”

“Sure. Hope work is okay.”

“Thanks. See you.”

“Bye.” He was halfway down the hall when he heard her call out: “Wait!” She was leaning round her door frame peering out at him, Mittens writhing in her arms. She had said the cat didn’t like strangers, but it didn’t seem particularly fond of her either as far as Alistair could tell.

“Yes?” he said, in an unintentionally taciturn way that made him flashback to their first meeting.

“Celia. I’m Celia.”

“Oh. Alistair. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too!” And then she was gone, wrestling the cat back inside, the door clicking shut behind her.

* * *

Alistair emerged from his apartment some days later only to locks eyes with a man who wore his blonde hair in a messy bun and had an unflinching, curious gaze. Alistair froze while Celia’s companion nudged her and whispered loudly enough for half the building to hear, “Is that him?” in an accented voice.

Celia glanced around and perhaps it was his imagination but she seemed genuinely pleased when she spotted him. “Shh,” she hushed her friend, looking towards Alistair with a smile and embarrassed shake of her head.

“It is then!” the man replied, not heeding her request, his volume only rising. “The hero of the hour!”

Mostly focused on Celia, Alistair couldn’t be certain but he was pretty sure the man winked at him.

“Alistair, this is Zevran,” Celia said. “Yes Zevran: he rescued my cat. He must have heard me-”

But Zevran didn’t seem interested in the rest of Celia’s explanation. “Of course, I knew him almost instantly from your description,” Zevran continued, “Yes, quite dashing enough for a feline rescue. Tell me Alistair, do you find yourself compelled to assist little old ladies with their shopping? Have you ever thrown your coat across a puddle to spare the fine shoes of a lady?”

A woman with dark hair and an extremely low-cut top suddenly appeared from inside Celia’s apartment to survey him with a sneer. “Generally, I find that when a man attempts to interfere with my private affairs under the guise of ‘assistance’ he expects something in return,” she said in Alistair’s direction but somehow without actually speaking to him.

Zevran gasped. “Morrigan, are you suggesting he planted the cat and staged the recovery?”

“Both of you: leave him be. Morrigan, he could hardly help getting involved with me shrieking on the balcony for half the afternoon.”

Morrigan seemed unconvinced and continued to stare at him like he was a pile of manure. Alistair took this as his queue to join the conversation (not that they needed him evidently). “I wouldn’t say shrieking…”

“No? What would you say then?” Celia asked giving him an amused look, one eyebrow raised.

“Wailing?” Alistair tried after a long pause. “No wait, that might actually be worse. I take it back.”

Zevran let out a bark of laughter and Celia smiled ruefully: “Probably no less accurate to be fair.” Morrigan rolled her eyes and disappeared back into Celia’s apartment. Celia glanced after her and then stared pointedly at Zevran who raised his hands and followed his friend inside, leaving them alone in the corridor. Celia pulled her door not quite closed, and took a few steps towards him. “It’s good to see you again,” she said.

“Is it?”

Celia looked taken aback. “Shouldn’t it be?”

“Usually I’m pretty good at putting people off during the first impression. Not you then? Not yet anyway. There’s still time.” Alistair forced a grin but groaned internally. That was what he was opening with?

She laughed and then tilted her head and smiled at him in a way that confused him. “You certainly made _an_ impression.” Her eyes slipped from his face and she looked at the wall somewhere over his shoulder. “We’re um, having a few drinks. You could – did you want to come in for a while? I know they come off a bit… but they’re not so bad. It might be – well did you want to?”

“I have to go out actually. I already have something on. Sorry.” He meant it too.

Celia made a noise that was somewhere between letting out a breath and a laugh. “Well you could have mentioned that before I went through with the awkward invitation couldn’t you? Goodness!”

Alistair laughed too. “Perhaps another time?”

“I’d like that. I’d like to buy you a drink to say ‘thank you’ at the very least.”

“Don’t worry about it. Really.”

“Honestly it’s just selfish: I’m desperate to assuage my own guilt. You did risk your life to save my cat after all.”

“I hardly risked my life but I’m glad you’re so easy to impress.” She went a little pink and looked at her feet. Alistair rubbed the back of his head feeling a bit embarrassed himself. “Besides, you gave me some paper towel. Made my day, maybe my entire life,” he joked.

“And I’m the one who’s easy to impress?” They both laughed and the awkwardness dissipated a little. Alistair began to speak: “Would you be free-”

The lift dinged and a man stepped out. “Hello Cece!” he boomed when he saw Celia, pronouncing it as ‘See-see’. “Waiting for me?”

“Hello Fergus. Ooh! Orlesian!” Celia said, accepting the bottles of wine offered and skimming her eyes over the labels. “This is Alistair,” she added, for the newcomer’s benefit.

Fergus gave him a long, assessing look but eventually smiled. “I see,” he said in an intrigued way that made it obvious he too was familiar with the story of Alistair’s daring cat rescue. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for stepping in to help my sister the other day. She would chuck a fit if anything happened to that cat. Would have arranged a televised funeral for it I swear,” he chuckled as Celia rolled her eyes.

“Ah, you heard about that too? No problem at all,” Alistair said, rolling his shoulders self-consciously.

“Heard about it? Yeah, I heard about it alright. I think Celia phoned everyone she knew to tell them the story. Twice.”

“Fergus, the others are inside,” Celia told her brother sternly, only to be ignored.

“Personally though, I reckon you should have just let nature take its course: that cat is _evil_.” Alistair pulled a horrified face, mostly for Celia’s benefit.

“I said the others are inside Fergus,” Celia told him, more sharply than before and Fergus, still chuckling, nudged her with his elbow before taking the hint and letting himself in to the apartment.

“Were you about to say something?” Celia asked encouragingly.

Alistair shook his head slightly and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “I should let you get back to your friends.”

“Of course, you probably need to get going. Sorry to hold you up,” Celia said.

“No, it’s fine. Enjoy…” he pointed towards her door with his chin.

“Yeah. And you enjoy um, whatever you’re up to.”

“Yep. See you.”

“Bye.” And then she was gone again.

* * *

Alistair spotted Leliana through the window of The Nug’s Tail tavern as he approached. With her usual, seemingly supernatural perception, she looked up from her phone as he approached the building apparently sensing the moment he had arrived. He returned her wave enthusiastically as she gestured to the table, signalling she had a drink waiting for him.

“You’re late,” she said, entirely unsurprised. And so she should be accustomed to it: they had been at the same boarding school together so she had had more than enough time to become used to his bouts of tardiness. Leliana on the other hand, had never once been late in her entire life. Nor was she early. She just seemed to always arrive at exactly the most opportune moment which suited her current job as a political advisor. Alistair didn’t fully understand her role but it seemed to mainly involve knowing a lot of information without letting on that you knew it until the most strategic moment.

“Yeah sorry,” he said, taking a seat opposite her as she continued to tap at her phone. “I was talking to a woman.”

“Was it Wynne?” Leliana responded dismissively. Wynne, an older lady who lived in the same building as Alistair, was a friend. Leliana liked Wynne, but also enjoyed teasing Alistair for spending so much time with her.

“No, it wasn’t Wynne. I do know a second woman, if you can stretch your imagination far enough to believe it.”

“ _I’m_ a woman Alistair,” Leliana reminded him, more amused than offended.

“Oh right. Yeah. Well a third…I don’t literally count all the woman I have ever…you know what I meant.”

Leliana finally looked up at him. “A mystery woman then. How intriguing.”

“Just a neighbour,” Alistair said quickly. He had been looking forward to telling her the story of meeting Celia but Leliana’s sudden burning interest made him self-conscious. “Talked about the weather. The cost of rent. Really broke some new ground.”

“Hm, is that so?” she said, switching off her phone screen and putting it face down on the table. Alistair knew her too well to think that he had escaped further questioning on this matter. She always knew when he was lying. He braced, but instead she told him: “I heard this week that some work might be coming your way.”

“My way? Or my employer’s way?”

“Your employer. They’ve landed a reasonably important contract: it was mentioned in one of our media briefs.”

“Don’t know why you’re telling me: I never get picked for any field work.”

“I heard it will be a year-long commitment. I’m not sure anyone else at your office has the capacity in their schedule from what you've said.”

“They’ll reshuffle everyone to make it work. What is it? A construction site?”

“Something with a potential media presence apparently. Hence it crossing my desk. Justinia may be asked to comment in future, should any issues arise.”

Alistair puzzled over this, staring into his beer. “Is it a celebrity?”

Leliana sipped her glass of spirits, appeared to think deeply about it as she held the glass up to catch the light, then sipped it again. “I thought you weren’t interested?” she finally replied.

“I wasn’t! But then you kept giving me little crumbs of information so now I am. Just like you intended me to be.” Leliana laughed and failed to deny it. “So what is it? You obviously know,” Alistair prompted.

“A book.”

“A book?” Alistair said incredulously. “And has this book made a lot of enemies? Does the book owe money to a mob boss? Is there a hit out on the book?”

Leliana relaxed back in her seat but somehow managed to still look poised. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the matter at this time.”

“But you brought it up! That’s just cruel. Is it a new 'Game of Thrones'? Is it a political memoir? Is it racy? Is it a racy political memoir? What isss it?” he asked, finishing the sentence in a whine.

“No further questions thank you,” Leliana said as if she was addressing a throng of journalists.

“I’m just an easy target to you, aren’t I? You’re toying with me,” Alistair mumbled.

Leliana smiled fondly at him and it was impossible to stay annoyed. “So, tell me about this neighbour of yours?”


	2. New Acquaintances

Wynne watched on as he screwed in the lightbulb, letting out a satisfied hum when he was finished. “Thank you dear.”

“Need anything else while I’m here?” he asked, climbing down the step ladder, carefully holding the old bulb.

“You’ve done enough Alistair: I’m not completely helpless.”

“I know but you’re sure? I’m yours to command. Whatever you need.”

She smiled at him with true warmth but raised an eyebrow. “Surely a young man like yourself has other pursuits to occupy himself with. I wouldn’t have thought spending a Saturday afternoon with an elderly neighbour was high on the agenda.”

Alistair chuckled. “Other _pursuits_? You make me sound dastardly. I like visiting you Wynne and you know it.”

“Then I had best put the kettle on and give you a biscuit at least. Maybe a few. Have you lost a bit of weight recently?”

Alistair took a seat at the table. “With you feeding me sweets day in and day out like this? No chance. Oh, and let me know if you need anything picked up from the shops. I’m going Monday morning.”

“I’m not sure at the moment.”

“Just slip a list under my door if you think of anything and I’m out.”

She shook her head. “Honestly: you're too good. How am I ever supposed to return the favour?” Alistair shrugged and pointed at the plate of freshly baked oat biscuits. “As much as I would suffer without your help,” she told him, “You really must begin to value your time better. You can’t do everything for free.”

“Only for you Wynne, only for you.”

“I will count myself lucky then. Tea?”

“Better make it coffee.”

“At this time of the afternoon?” she tutted.

“Shift tonight.”

“And how is work going?”

“Yesterday I used all the paper clips I could find in the office to make a chain.” When, to his confusion, Wynne failed to look impressed he added: “It was fives metres long!”

Wynne frowned as she stirred a mug. “You’re unhappy.”

Alistair leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands on the table. “No. Not unhappy. Just bored. It was never exactly my dream job but I thought it would be a bit more you know,” he mimed punching, “James Bond.”

Wynne laughed. “I for one, am glad it is not. Anything else going on? Any gossip?”

“About me? Thought you would have learned nothing ever happens – oh. I rescued a cat a few days ago.”

“Rescued a cat! Well, sounds like there is a story there.”

“New neighbour. Well, not that new. Hadn’t met her before anyway. Not properly. Her cat made a bid for freedom and was stuck up on the roof.”

“I hope you didn’t put yourself in danger?” Wynne said sternly. Alistair knew what she was actually asking: _‘Hope you didn’t do anything stupid?’_ She knew him too well.

“Nope. Bodahn never took back the roof key so I was at no risk. Not of plunging to my death at any rate, but the cat was a little…feisty.” He pointed to the scratch.

“Oh dear, I thought you had cut yourself shaving. I assume the cat was unharmed?”

“Yes. It was a very happy reunion,” he said smiling, remembering the cat skulking away as he accepted his mug of coffee.

“Your new neighbour – would I have met her? My age?”

“No, my age. Not sure. She’s at the university doing some kind of…she’s at the library. Cecilia? No, it was Celia I think.” There was no trace of recognition from Wynne at the name.

“Perhaps I’ve seen her. What does she look like?” Wynne waited as Alistair floundered. “Ah. She’s pretty,” Wynne said sagely.

“I didn’t say anything!”

Wynne’s eyes sparkled over the rim of her teacup. “But your expression instantly glazed over and your ears have gone a delightful shade of vermillion.”

“You’re _evil_. I don’t know why I keep falling for the sweet little old lady act,” he said flatly and she laughed quietly, reaching over to put another biscuit on his plate.

“I must say I hope to meet Celia soon. Anyone who has made such an impression on you must be worth meeting.”

“She did not – there was no impression made.”

“No? Then why have you still got that puppy dog look on your face?”

“No! Just…no!”

“Have it your way then. Heroically rushing to the rescue of the pretty neighbour in distress? You’re right: it all sounds entirely unremarkable.”

“For the record I didn’t rush to help her. In fact I put it off as long as I could.”

“Alistair! In that case I’m disappointed in you.”

“Didn’t want to _meddle_. In my experience meddling leads to all sort of unintended and humiliating consequences. First its meddling, next thing I know I’m leading a foreign army into battle and I can’t find my left shoe.”

Wynne looked at him with bemusement. “That may be, but it is a bit late now. I think you have well and truly meddled.”

Alistair shrugged. “I’ll probably never even see her again. And with my shifts…Speaking of which.” He downed the rest of his coffee and pushed his chair back to stand.

“Biscuit for the road?”

“I shouldn’t,” he told her, even as he accepted two.

* * *

Despite telling Wynne that he didn’t expect to ever see Celia again, Alistair wanted to. Not that he was quite ready to admit that to himself yet, even if he had spent significant portions of his recent work shifts mentally drafting witty opening lines. _‘Just checking Mittens is accounted for because I had a few free minutes right now if he needs retrieving from the roof again,”_ was his favourite, and ideally would be delivered as he leaned casually against her doorframe on a particularly good hair day.

But somehow despite this plotting, he never made it those few extra steps up the hall. It was stupid, but Alistair became convinced that fate would decide their next meeting, and to force its hand would be wrong somehow. Or at least that was the excuse, which sounded better in his head than the occasional reprimand of ‘ _coward_ ’ that he scolded himself with.

But perhaps fate was listening, as Alistair had another chance, only two days later when he entered their building and saw Celia getting into the lift. He should have just waited but instead made a mad dash across the lobby to join her, the momentum meaning he bounded into the lift with an overly enthusiastic: “Hello!” that just about made the walls of the carriage rattle. A beat too late he realised she was on the phone. She gave him a surprised look and mouthed ‘hi’ before continuing her conversation.

Chest constricting with embarrassment, Alistair thought about hammering the open door button and getting off on a random floor but the hope that he still might get to speak to her kept him in place.

“It was,” she paused to cough, “Coming on yesterday I think but I feel _so_ much worse today.” A pause to listen, then more coughing. “No, it is just a head cold but I think I should stay away all the same.” She sniffed loudly then mouthed ‘sorry’ at him. Her conversation continued as they travelled up to their floor, her voice sounding strained, “Just some rest. No don’t go out of your way: I’ll probably be asleep. No I have everything…I just need to rest. Yeah. Yes. I know, I wish I could but –” more prolonged coughing and the elevator pinged on their floor, “…Have fun and tell me all about it.” They were heading to their own doors now. “Okay, you too. Bye. No really, don’t. I’m fine.” She was unlocking her door and stepped inside.

He sighed. Poor woman sounded like she had the actual plague. She was turning away her friend’s help, perhaps worried about troubling them, but she wouldn’t refuse him if it wasn’t out of his way surely?

He knocked on her door and she answered almost immediately, evidently not having moved far away. “Don’t worry about being contagious: I never get anything,” he told her.

“Hi!” she said with a smile then frowned at him. “And what?”

“Just wanted to let you know that I – I’m offering help. Insisting really, that if you need any groceries, or a medication run or whatever just give me a call.” It occurred to him as he said this that she didn’t have his phone number and this could be interpreted by her as a really opportunistic and seedy way to try and get hers. “Or you know where I live,” he added lamely.

“Medication? When?”

“Just while you recover. You shouldn’t be going out in this wind, if you can help it.”

“Oh,” was all she said. Alistair became suddenly aware she was holding a glass of wine. And that she hadn’t coughed once in the duration of their conversation.

“Unless that wine is medicinal, I’m going to assume I’ve misunderstood something,” he said flatly.

“I’m not ill.”

“Clearly.”

“Some of my friends are going on a three-day camping trip. They’re going rock climbing,” she said with clear distaste. “I don’t want to go so...”

“Why not?”

“Why would I?”

“Sounds like fun?”

“Does it?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“For liking rock climbing?” Alistair had lost track of the conversation.

“For the offer. That was really nice.”

He was so thrown that he struggled to respond for a moment. “Keep it in mind for when you need it I guess. I don’t mean – that sounded like a threat. Hopefully you won’t need it obviously but…you know where I am. Just,” he made a clicking noise with his tongue, gestured up the hall with his thumbs and immediately felt like an idiot.

“Hey Alistair?” she said as he turned away.

“That’s me,” he said, spinning back towards her. Why? Why couldn’t he respond like a normal person _just once_?

“Given I’m not ill, or rock climbing for that matter, would you be free to get that drink? Tomorrow? Now I’ve got nothing to do all weekend and all my friends will be out of reception range so I’d appreciate the company honestly.”

“I can’t tomorrow.”

“Oh! Tonight then?”

“Tonight?” Alistair asked in a high voice.

“Right now? I have wine,” she gestured with the glass, “Or beer or water or um…I could make you a hot cocoa?”

“A hot cocoa?”

“Thought you might be a cocoa man.” Alistair gave her a searching look. “I’m trying to lure you in and I’m a bit short on options,” she explained.

“You want to lure _me_ in?”

“That’s the plan. The mysterious neighbour who works odd hours of the night.”

“You make me sound…incredibly suspect.”

“Well if you’re going to murder me we may as well get it over with, right?”

“I have no idea if you’re joking or not.”

“I am joking: please don’t murder me.”

“I…won’t.”

“You hesitated!”

Alistair blinked. “I’m confused! I think I’m still translating half of what you’ve said.”

She laughed, a little nervously to his ear. “Yeah, I ran away with it a bit.”

“Let me catch up. To be clear I’m not going to murder you, though I am conscious of the fact that this is exactly what a murderer would say if presented with this scenario.” The answer, nonetheless seemed to satisfy Celia. “Do you always speak so quickly?” he asked.

“Only when I’m awkwardly inviting my neighbour to have a drink and he is standing on my threshold looking at me like I put a colander on my head and started reciting the alphabet backwards.”

Alistair grinned sheepishly. “Maybe I did leave you hanging there. Yes, I would like that.”

Beaming now, she stepped back to let him through. “Come in then! I assume I don’t need to give you directions. Just like yours, but opposite.”

“That sounds like precisely the kind of scenario I would need directions for ordinarily.” The chaos had not abated since he had last crossed her threshold. In fact, it may have gotten worse. Alistair was not accustomed to being the neatest person in the room but it seemed he had finally met his match. It looked more like a hurricane had gone off in an office filing cabinet than a normal messy home however. All the boxes still seemed largely undisturbed, except for a few that had been opened and fossicked through for some apparently crucial item. There were books on every surface at various stages of being read, the pages peppered with brightly colour tabs of paper. The glowing screen of a computer caught his eye, notes stuck around the monitor and a word processor open on a document. Although how she worked on it when the keyboard was swamped with binders he had no idea.

Lowering the volume of a radio on the kitchen bench that was playing something soft and folksy, Celia turned to him. “Take a seat. Oh um…” she hesitated as she seemed to register that there were boxes on the sofa.

“I’ll get them.” He was starting to wonder where everyone had sat when she had all those friends over. Maybe they all preferred to stand where she was from. He stacked the boxes carefully to one side, hoping there was nothing fragile in them. He might have asked, but from what he had witnessed, he doubted she would know.

“Thanks. Was it the cocoa that tempted you? I have marshmallows,” she added enthusiastically.

Alistair laughed. “A beer would be great. Sans the marshmallows. This time anyway.”

She feigned surprise but went to the fridge for it. “I had a bottle opener somewhere…” She looked about a little frantically.

“I can do it,” he said to spare her the struggle of searching. He took the cold bottle, and levered off the cap using the edge of the counter.

“Oh that’s amazing, thank you so much,” she said appreciatively, which made him chuckle.

“I can also whistle pretty well, and even tie my own shoelaces on a good day,” he told her in a sarcastic tone. But Maker honestly, he liked this woman: she was making him feel strangely competent. Alistair was unaccustomed to it.

“Incredible. I’m sure you’re full of hidden talents,” she told him, wiping condensation from her hands onto her jeans before she picked up her wine. They stood across from each other in her kitchen, which despite being identical to his, suddenly felt significantly smaller to Alistair. She let out another slightly breathless laugh. “I’m sorry, I’m not usually so scatterbrained. I’ve kind of hit the ground running a bit since I got here.”

“Yeah? You said you’re a librarian. Endless shelves to stack?” He kicked himself internally for how insulting that sounded but she didn’t seem to take any offense, instead she seemed pleased.

“You remembered! I am at the library at the moment but I’m just here to do some research from Highever University.”

“That’s a long way to come. What brought you here? The traffic? The smog? The high crime rate?”

“All of those things, obviously, and I was chasing a book.”

“Chasing a book? Was it particularly swift and cunning?” he said wryly and she laughed, albeit with a slight shake of her head.

“Ha. Yes, in a way. I only have access for a very limited time so I am trying to make the most of it.”

“Must be some book. I like a good thriller myself,” Alistair said distractedly, something tugging at the edge of his memory briefly before the sensation passed.

“If only it were that interesting! I mean it is interesting. But also a bit dry I expect. And written in Ancient Tevene.”

Alistair pulled a face. “Maker, well I won’t ask to borrow it when you’re done then.”

“Yeah, it’ll be slow going. Denerim only has it for the next year, if that. I had to write about ten thousand emails and make another thousand pleading phone calls to even get permission to have it brought here. I would have just travelled to Tevinter, but apparently there are other things in that library they don’t want me snooping about in so I was completely barred.”

“Wow. Touchy of them.”

“Still a lot of deep running animosity between our great nations: especially in the academic circles.”

“The most vicious circles of them all.”

Celia scrunched up her nose and took a sip of wine. “You’d be surprised.”

“Living in this city, humanity and how it can be awful is beginning to lose its capacity to surprise me sadly.”

“I hear you on that. Highever isn’t perfect but this is…very different. And the book coming here isn’t helping. Maybe you heard about it in the news? It’s a bit of a controversy.”

“Something rings a bell,” he said vaguely. Something did not a ring a bell. He had no idea what she was talking about. He was grateful when she didn’t call him on the obvious lie.

“Well Tevinter wasn’t all that keen to lend the book to me, given how valuable it is. And some groups in Ferelden aren’t that keen to have it here at all, given how understandably offensive some of the content is.” Celia continued, gesturing with her free hand and speaking as if to an audience: “Archaic though the writings are to a contemporary Ferledan reader, in many matters Tevinter’s general attitudes, policies and prejudices have not advanced. As a result, having the book in Fereldan is seen as an affront which I understand, _of course_ , but I’m not interested in it as an instructional manual. I’m actually comparing the development of the ancient languages, looking for points of similarity between the early tribes. I’m only using it in the context of Thedas-wide research: I'm trying to establish common ground. But to a lot of people it doesn’t even matter because all they can think about is the content of the book rather than the _value_ of it as linguistic map to - Sorry, I’m rambling,” she said, cutting herself off and taking a deep breath which Alistair wasn’t surprised she needed.

“Valuable you say?” he joked. “So uh, which one is it?” he asked, glancing around the many piles of books in view.

“That one,” she said quickly, pointing at a takeaway menu for the local Antivan place. Alistair made a few exaggerated creeping steps towards it like a cartoon villain before they both broke down laughing. “It hasn’t arrived yet, and when it does it will only be accessible under strict conditions at the library. I’m still finalising some legal paperwork to make sure I _can_ access it. Should be seeing it for the first time late next week.” Her face lit up at the thought and Alistair admired her enthusiasm: it was charming. Actually, _she_ was charming.

The idea of sitting in the actual chairs seemed to have been abandoned and he leaned against the counter. She followed suit pushing herself up to sit on the bench opposite him, swinging her legs slightly. “So, what's the hold up?”

“The library needs to arrange additional security. I’m not sure what that entails but I’m picturing a trigger sensor that sets off a giant rolling boulder like in Indiana Jones.”

Alistair snorted. “No way, sooo ancient. It’ll probably be laser sensors and retina scanners. Or roaming robots with tasers.”

She laughed while taking a mouthful of wine and coughed for a few seconds before she could speak. “Don’t get my hopes up!” She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand, perhaps wondering if she had spluttered any of the wine over her face. “I haven’t done anything but talk about myself since you came in,” she said self-consciously.

“If you think I have any comparable talking points to ancient manuscripts and taser wielding robots then I’m going to have to disappoint you.”

“What is your job like?”

“Dull on a good day. Mind numbingly boring on a bad day.”

Celia pulled a face. “How long have you lived in Denerim? You said you were from Redcliffe?”

“Too long. Yeah, I grew up around Redcliffe.”

“I love Redcliffe! We’ve never actually stayed there but we used to drive through sometimes.”

“Pass through is about all most people do. Not much to hang about for. Unless you need petrol, some variety of pickled fish or an embroidered tablecloth.”

“But it looks so quaint and pretty. Must have been a good place to be a kid.”

He smiled. “It was. A lot of roaming around from dawn and not coming back until it was dinner time.”

“So why did you move? Do you have family here?”

“No. Just needed a fresh start. A family friend, Duncan, runs a company so got me a job. How about you? Does Fergus live here? Parents?”

“Parents back in Highever. Well, everyone I know back in Highever really,” she said with a downcast look. “My brother and a couple of friends have been helping me move. Fergus does have conferences in the city sometimes which is nice. I’ll get to see him when he comes. Maybe my nephew too.”

“Always good to see someone from home.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit intimidating coming here alone,” she said.

“I know how you feel.” Alistair cleared his throat and attempted a casual tone. “So you don’t have a partner who’ll be following you here? Or are they just pining away back in Highever?”

Celia expressed no outward reaction to the question. “No, no one. Apparently, my passion for my studies makes me unattractive, according to my mother. Which suits me: I don’t really need any distractions right now. How about you?” Alistair was pleased, then rapidly disenchanted by her response, though he wasn’t really sure what he had hoped to accomplish.

“Me? No. Apparently, _I_ tend to come across as odd in first impressions. According to my friend Leliana anyway. She keeps telling me I need to relax and be myself but I have a horrible feeling that I am just odd.”

“I didn’t think you were odd. Quite the opposite: I thought you were very dashing and handsome,” Celia told him quickly. She threw back the last of her wine in one large mouthful as Alistair felt a spark of something inexplicably resembling hope rekindle in his chest even as he tried to figure out if she was joking.

“Oh,” he laughed nervously. He put his beer down, picked it up, then put it down again immediately so he could fold his arms. “Well, odd, _except_ when I rescue cats on first meeting. Which happens more often than you’d think actually. A few times a week at least. Just constantly plucking cats from trees, stormwater drains…It’s a bit of a nightmare.” He cleared his throat again. “Mittens isn’t around then?”

“No, he seems to have gone into hiding. I thought he might not be so shy, given he seemed to take a liking to you.”

Alistair reflexively touched his face where it had been scratched but Celia didn’t seem to notice. “Can’t say I’m not a bit offended. I really thought we had a connection, you know?”

“I just don’t know where his manners have gone,” she replied with an air of astonishment then they broke down laughing again.

* * *

Still feeling like he was floating around his apartment on a little cloud after a few drinks with Celia, Alistair assumed when his phone rang it was her. In hindsight it made no sense for her to be calling him after they had just seen one another. Plus, she didn’t even have his phone number and could just as easily knock on his door. Nonetheless he expected her voice on the other end of the line. Perhaps it was wishful thinking.

“Hellooo?” he drawled in his usual fashion.

“Alistair Theirin?” Instead of Celia it was the curt voice on an unfamiliar woman. Alistair felt the wind leave his sails abruptly and immediately he was on guard. Alistair avoided giving out his surname wherever possible, always using Guerrin except when he was legally unable to.

“Who’s speaking?” he asked without confirming his name.

“My name is Anora Mac Tir. I work at Theirin Industries and I represent –”

In a reflex born entirely of panic, Alistair hung up the phone and threw it on the counter. It skidded to a halt in front of a cereal box. He stared at it, blood rushing in his ears, wondering if she would call back. But after a few minutes of silence he picked the phone back up and dialled for Eamon. He listened to it ring out and then immediately tried Teagan who answered.

“Alistair! Are you alright?” Teagan asked before Alistair could speak. Alistair didn’t blame him for jumping to the worst possible conclusion right away. He may have been a bit reticent about keeping in touch recently.

“I’m fine. I was trying Uncle Eamon but he didn’t answer.”

“He’s having a lie down”

“You’re there? Is he okay?” Alistair asked worriedly. No matter what terms he and Eamon had parted on, Alistair couldn’t forget the kindness shown to him as a child. His childhood may not have been perfect, but he couldn't imagine where he might be if Eamon hadn't put a roof over his head. 

“He’s showing his age a touch is all. Nothing to be concerned about.”

“Ha. Bet you wouldn’t say that to his face.”

“Certainly not. Why did you need to speak to him? Are you sure you’re alright Alistair?” Teagan’s alarm made him feel guilty. It may have been more than a few months since Alistair had reached out to Eamon, and he had heard nothing from him in turn.

“Yeah, I really am fine,” he assured him. “Just got a call from someone at Theirin Industries,” Alistair said the name mockingly. “Wasn’t sure what to make of it.”

He could tell from the pause before Teagan spoke that the man was as startled as Alistair had been. “Interesting. What did they say?”

“Not sure. I…The phone uh - it cut out.”

“Cut out? I see,” Teagan said with scepticism.

“Do you know someone called Anora McIntire?”

“Anora Mac Tir? She’s the one who called you?” Teagan said sharply.

“Yeah. Is that bad?”

“I’m surprised. She’s Cailan’s PA and very…influential.”

“In what way?”

“Practically runs the joint for him. Gets her way – but nicely. Knows all his passwords, orders his groceries, even signs his name for him apparently.”

“Ah. That _is_ pretty influential.”

“You have no idea what she was calling about? Did she say anything before you – before the call cut out?”

“No. But it wasn’t a coincidence. She knew my name so she must know I’m…”

“Cailan’s brother.”

“Half-brother,” Alistair corrected quickly. Teagan sighed on the other end of the phone. “Anyway. I thought Eamon might have heard something.”

“I’ll ask him to call you back. Though no doubt he will himself when he sees you tried him. Don’t worry about it in the interim.”

“You think it’s nothing?”

“I can’t begin to imagine what they want. Maybe you have to sign something? But I understood it was all settled when you were still a baby. Eamon said your father’s lawyers made it explicitly clear that you had no entitlement to, or holdings in his business.”

“That he wanted nothing to do with me you mean. Not even the association lest I sully his good reputation,” Alistair said with heavy sarcasm.

“Alistair…”

“I’m not complaining. I never wanted anything to do with him, or his skyscrapers either.”

“Alright,” Teagan said in a resigned way. They may have already rehashed this ground a few hundred times in the surlier moments of Alistair’s adolescence. “Maybe it is for the best that the phone cut out. Don’t do anything until you talk to Eamon. He’ll follow up for you.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Are you going to visit sometime? It has been too long. We all miss you.”

Alistair withheld a scoff at the thought of Isolde ever missing him. “Maybe,” he said, though he had no intention of going back to Redcliffe any time soon.

“How are you otherwise? Duncan keeping you busy?”

“Yeah. I’m doing a lot of shifts. And you? All going alright? Is Connor doing better now that he’s getting home-schooled?” Alistair asked this with as much impartiality as he could manage given the arrival of Connor’s mother at Eamon’s side had seen Alistair hastily shipped off to boarding school at a very early age.

“We think so. He is such a quiet boy. The opposite of you actually.”

“You mean he’s well behaved,” Alistair said with a laugh.

“Now you’re putting words in my mouth! You were a good kid. Just rambunctious.”

“You were guilty in part for that.”

“Was I indeed!? How so?”

“You encouraged me. Every time you visited you had a new plot for us. Taking me mountain climbing or rowing. Half the trouble I got into was because of you,” Alistair said, a twang of nostalgia and the two beers he had with Celia making him feel a little sad.

“Maybe I did at that,” Teagan said fondly.

“Remember when you told me you’d buy me a new bike if I swam all the way from one side of the lake to the other?”

“Of course,” Teagan chuckled. “I followed along in the boat and had to fish you out before you drowned.”

“I was three-quarters of the way there!”

“You always were determined. I didn’t think you would even attempt it: I was only teasing you.”

“I really wanted that bike. And you got it for me anyway, even though I failed.”

“I’d bought it before you even got a toe in the water. And you more than earned it,” he chuckled. “I have to head out. I’ve got a dinner with clients and had better scrub up a bit first.”

“I’ll let you go then.”

“Hang tight. Wait for Eamon.”

“Will do. Thanks.” Alistair listened until he heard Teagan hang up, as was his habit, the loud beep in direct contrast to the silence of his apartment. He checked for missed calls in case Anora had tried him again but there was nothing. Which was a relief, though the sight of the empty screen also contributed to his mounting feeling of desolation.

Alistair wasn’t necessarily prone to getting lonely. His childhood had given him plenty of practice at entertaining himself and being his own source of company. First in the huge, empty house of his Uncle Eamon, then at the hyper religious boarding school where he never quite fitted in with his peers. And things had only improved since he had moved to the city. So he had never considered himself a lonely person.

But when loneliness did hit him, it hit him hard.

It had been a strangely eventful couple of days, and now that phone call had rattled him. His familial relations were not a topic he liked to broach, even in his own mind, so having it pop up like this was disconcerting. Afraid of the path his own thoughts would take him, Alistair went through his mental checklist. Teagan was going out, Eamon wasn’t answering, Duncan and Leliana would be working and Wynne had book group that night. Cullen might be around: Alistair’s only real school friend apart from Leliana. But Cullen was always very good at telling Alistair what the _right_ thing to do was and that wasn’t always what Alistair wanted to hear, especially not now. There was no one else he knew that he would really want to confide in: many didn’t even know about his true heritage.

Taking a steadying breath, he turned on the TV to a random channel, just for the background noise, and against his own better judgement, opened another beer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alistair. Ugh. The best sad goofy boy.  
> I could write about ten million words of Wynne & Alistair banter. I just love them.  
> I wrote the 'fake coughing in the elevator' scene before...well, before all this (I wrote a first draft of this in 2017!). Sorry if that rankled anyone - not great timing.  
> Hope you're all doing alright! Thank you for reading and keeping me company this far. I appreciate it so much.


	3. New Normal

Alistair’s bleak mood lifted as he slept and he felt considerably better the following morning. The phone call from Anora was distant enough to feel less threatening, and he was headed straight into work first thing which left very little time to dwell on the matter any further.

Arriving at the office, he found Duncan leaning against the wall of the breakroom drinking an espresso. Alistair guessed it wasn’t his first. “Waiting for someone?” he asked.

“You,” Duncan said, putting down the cup on the sink.

“Am I late?” Alistair asked, flicking his wrist to check his watch, though he was already pretty confident he wasn’t. While he may complain a lot about his job, he never liked to let Duncan down.

“No,” Duncan said then, “Leave that,” while nodding at the jacket Alistair had begun to remove. “You’re heading out again.”

“Into the outside world? But how will I see the monitors from all the way out there? How will I reach the stapler?” Alistair fretted sarcastically. Duncan shook his head with a yawn and walked straight past him, Alistair bounding to follow. “Where are we going?”

“Job.”

Alistair intended to ask more questions as they got into Duncan’s car but his boss immediately got a phone call which he answered using the hands free as he drove. But that didn’t matter. Alistair was getting out. He was going to be doing something. Anything! Even when the other Watch staff complained about circling an inanimate object for long, uneventful hours, he envied them. At least they got a change of scenery. At least there was a vague chance that something interesting would happen on any given day, instead of staring at the same grimy walls, ancient filling cabinets and flickering screens all day.

Eventually they arrived at an unassuming one storey building, tucked back from the street behind a neglected looking courtyard. They were halfway across it when Alistair noticed a figure on the main steps and stopped short.

“Celia,” he said quietly. But it was loud enough for Duncan to register and he stopped too, giving Alistair an unreadable look, his head titling thoughtfully. Celia seemed to spot them too. There was a moment where they were all frozen, then Alistair saw her mouth open in surprise. She briefly raised a hand in greeting before coming down the steps two at a time to meet them.

“You know her?” Duncan asked as she approached.

Celia joined them as Alistair tried to answer Duncan’s question, tripping over his words. “Know her? Not really. I mean we met. Kind of. But not. I was mostly with the cat…if anything.” Duncan looked at him, completely perplexed. Alistair was reluctant to say anything that would sabotage his chance at getting this job and he had a sense he was already in trouble. Celia peered at him curiously.

“It’s against company policy to assign a security guard to a client that they know personally,” Duncan told them, but in such a pained way Alistair sensed he was giving them an invitation to talk him out of it. Anything to avoid the hassle he guessed: Duncan was busy enough as it was.

Celia seemed to read the same queue. “We don’t know each other. We had one chance encounter is all. Or two? But only briefly. I don’t even know his name. Was it Roberto? Or Greg?” she said, feigning confusion that was too over the top to be taken seriously.

“We’re practically strangers. She might like pineapple on her pizza. She might think Star Wars should be watched in episodic order. She might put milk in her bowl before her cereal and I wouldn’t even have a clue,” Alistair insisted.

Duncan groaned quietly as he mulled it over. “If you know each other in any way I really need to assign someone else.” he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “There is an undeniable conflict of interest.”

“But!” Celia said quickly, “Technically you’re assigning a security guard to the book, not _me_.” She turned to Alistair. “Are you at all acquainted with, or have you had any kind of personal relationship with book: ‘ _The Sacking of Arlathan: a firsthand account by Magister Theodosius Laskar’_?”

“Not in the slightest and no, never,” Alistair answered confidently. “She has a point Duncan.”

Celia looked triumphant. “That’s settled then. There is no conflict of interest. Alistair should stay.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know his name?” Duncan said and caught in her lie, Celia went bright red.

“Lucky guess,” she mumbled sheepishly. With a belated sense of realisation, it occurred to Alistair that Celia seemed to really want him on this job too. That was confusing, to say the least. He knew why he wanted it: finally, a change of scene and some field experience. But why did she? Perhaps she was just trying to return the favour for rescuing her cat?

Duncan let out a heavy sigh and beckoned for Alistair to follow him. “Give us a moment,” he told Celia. Once they were out of earshot he said: “We are short staffed, and this is unlikely to be a difficult position. The book is controversial, but not enough that we expect it to inspire any hostile action. Our involvement is mostly to assuage the worries of Tevinter University: our employers. They want to know their property is being monitored while in use.”

“You’re saying I’m not meant to let Celia sell the book on eBay or to spill coffee on it,” Alistair said, reading between the lines.

“Essentially. You’ll each have an access card for the secure room the book is stored in, and both cards are required in succession for the door to open.”

“Great. Means if I drop mine while walking down the street no one will be able to use it unless Celia loses hers in the exact same spot.”

Duncan was not amused. “ _Don’t_ lose your access card.

“I was just…I won’t Duncan.”

“Celia has a corresponding workspace, but the book doesn’t leave that storage room under any circumstances. Otherwise you just need to lie low and be on hand. Do you think you can manage that?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Alistair said emphatically. “Occasionally unlocking a door and standing around? Yeah. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Alistair’s snippy retort bounced off Duncan apparently without impact and his boss continued unperturbed. “The protestors aren’t likely to try anything but yell their voices hoarse and will lose enthusiasm once the next matter of intellectual debate flairs up and the journalists stop giving them air time. You’re here simply to provide a presence and a deterrence, in the event that any of them do get ideas about stealing or vandalising the book.”

“I haven’t actually seen any protestors. Unless that is it?” he asked, pointing at a sickly-looking pigeon meandering about on the pavement.

“The protestors are otherwise occupied.” Alistair shot him a confused look. “They’re currently making a demonstration at the humanities library on the University campus. They’ve been allowed to believe the book will be stored there. This location has not been publicised.”

“The…How many libraries do they have? Is this place even a library?”

“It is largely storage for duplicate books and materials that have since been digitised. It will be quiet: there are only a couple of staff on any given day and students from the University won’t have cause to come here.”

“Okay, good. All sounds nice and straightforward.”

Duncan’s mouth tightened a little. “Celia’s role in bringing the book here is known, and it has earned her some notoriety.”

Alistair raised an eyebrow. “What does that translate as?”

“Nothing to be alarmed about at this point: just talk. Comments below news articles, threads on forums by people who are…not in favour of her research.”

“Ahh, people on the internet having nasty little opinions. Classic.”

“For now. But I want you to keep your ear to the ground. If you see or hear anything, if she tells you about anything that seems like an escalation…”

“Report it to you.”

“Yes. You’re perceptive, even if you pretend not to be: use that. We’ve been hired to protect the book but there is some obvious overlap. Just monitor the situation.”

“Yes sir,” Alistair said with a mock salute. Duncan stared at him thoughtfully, then glanced back at Celia who had wandered off to throw some kind of food scraps in the direction of the pigeon. “Was there something else?” Alistair asked.

Duncan hesitated and Alistair felt strangely uneasy as he wondered what the man was holding back. “Nothing else. You start right now.” Duncan clapped him once on the shoulder. “You’ll do a good job Alistair. We are short staffed, as you know, but I have been waiting for an opportunity to get you in the field. I trust you with this.”

“Really? It just…hasn’t felt like you have. But thank you: I won’t let you down,” Alistair said, suddenly embarrassed.

“Call if you need to. Any time: my phone is always on.” Duncan nodded once and headed back to where he had parked his car. Alistair watched him go, rubbing the back of his neck. Despite working so hard to convince him, Alistair was still surprised that he had agreed to it. But then again, as Duncan walked away, Alistair realised that neither he nor Celia had mentioned that they were neighbours.

“I guess you convinced him?” Celia said from just behind him and Alistair jumped. She laughed at his reaction and added: “Boo.”

Alistair belatedly turned his startled reaction into a couple of comical ninja swipes. “You didn’t sneak up on me. My finely honed senses make it impossible.”

Celia snickered. “Good to know. Wouldn’t want any potential book thieves sneaking up and scaring you out of your wits like I just did.”

“I’ll have you know I am constantly poised and ready to spring into action. Combat ready at the drop of a hat.”

“I can tell from the little screeching noise you just made.”

“It was a battle cry,” he joked. “Shall we go and check out this book of yours?”

“Yes! It just arrived this morning,” Celia said and they began to walk to the main steps. “I’m so excited.”

“Can’t wait to see what all the fuss is about,” Alistair mumbled and followed.

* * *

The book was kept in a small, windowless reading room with restricted access as Duncan had described. The book could not be removed from the room and the pages were so brittle and ancient that Celia used gloves when she turned the delicate pages. She also waffled on a lot about temperature control and fire suppression settings but Alistair didn’t pay full attention. He was more interested in the alarm system. As Duncan had mentioned, it was swipe card access only and apart from Alistair and Celia, there was only one spare card set that was stored at the Warden Watch office. They only went in to see the book when Celia had something specific she wanted to refer to, which suited Alistair as the air was close and combined with the dim lighting it made him feel slightly claustrophobic.

Once she had taken notes or photographs, they would head back out to the room that Celia did most of her work in. The space was bigger than the front façade of the building had led him to believe, about the size of an indoor basketball court and had rows of shelves mostly packed with what appeared to be old newspapers in plastic sleeves. There was a long table in the centre of the shelves meant to accommodate probably twenty people, but Celia managed to completely cover it in open books and loose bits of paper in the course of about a week. Alistair liked to try and read them sometimes. Not the actual print-offs or scans, but anything annotated with Celia’s dense, loopy cursive. Her scrawls could be difficult to translate, but were often conversational as if she was making notes for someone other than herself. _‘Isaac seemed to think himself very magnanimous for a man who kept slaves and had just burned a city to the ground – wish I could go back and slap him,’_ she might note. Or _‘An unquestionable victory? Not sure the people of Arlathan felt that way about the destruction of their homes and culture. Glad this guy’s wound went septic.’_ It made him feel fleetingly that he might be more interested in history if it was all taught in notes scrawled in page margins like this.

The staff never came into Celia’s work area, and greeted them each day from the main desk with a certain amount of flustered shyness and awe that Alistair guessed was entirely due to some level of academic reputation Celia had obtained. One day she conversationally asked a young man behind the desk about his studies and the kid looked as if he was hyperventilating. Completely oblivious to the reaction she was inspiring, Celia asked questions, nodding enthusiastically at the stuttered answers, then scrawled down a quick list of book recommendations that the boy clutched tightly in his fist as he watched Celia walk away, his mouth gaping like it was a celebrity autograph.

Their first week passed companionably enough. Alistair would knock on Celia’s apartment door each morning and they caught the train together, walking from the station to the library, usually stopping to get coffee on the way. Once at the library, Alistair wasn’t sure if he should roam around or keep within her eyeline in case he was needed. But it definitely felt weird to just stand there and stare at her so he resorted to pacing back and forth while trying to not wander too far in case she wanted to access the book.

One evening she seemed distracted by his movements, watching his progress around the room over the lid of her laptop. “You can sit down if you want to. You don’t have to, but you’ve been on your feet all day,” she told him then shrugged.

“Thanks,” he said, picking a seat at the long table opposite her, but a few chairs up.

“I feel bad. Am I making you work overtime? It’s been a long day.”

“’Work’ is a pretty loose way of describing it,” he chuckled but she still looked concerned. “Just do what you need to do and don’t worry about little old me,” he said, flapping his hand at her books.

“You don’t have to swap over with someone else?”

“We’re a bit short-staffed at the moment. But seriously I’m fine: I’m getting paid.”

“Alright. Thanks.” She went back to her frantic typing but after a while paused to regard him again. “You’re not getting cabin fever?”

“Are you hinting I should leave? Because I have to warn you: it’ll be harder than that to trick me into letting you steal the book. Not very much harder I grant you, but not quite that easy.”

Celia’s nose crinkled endearingly as she smiled. “Rats. And I was just going to straight up ask you if I could take it.”

Alistair waggled his eyebrows. “It might work, you never know. Depends how _nicely_ you ask me.” ‘ _Shit’_ , he thought to himself as soon as he had said it. That was too flirty. Wasn’t it? Now she was smiling at him in a very encouraging way which seemed like a good thing. Or was it a bad thing? He was meant to be a professional.

“I’ll have to work on that angle then,” she said and he swallowed. “I don’t want to steal the book. I was just worried you might feel a bit cooped up. I love being in a library all day but I know it sends some people around the bend. My friend Morrigan did most of her study outside, said she couldn’t stand feeling like the walls were closing in on her, even in the dead of winter.”

“I’m doing okay. Reminds me of being at school a bit.”

Celia’s eyes widened with interest and Alistair immediately regretted the comment. “Oh? And is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

He gave her a narrow look. “I thought I had the job: why am I still being interviewed? Are you going to ask for my biggest weakness next? Because it's cheese.”

She tried to roll her eyes but couldn’t supress a small laugh. “And you think that might interfere with your ability to do your job here?”

“I’m just saying: if I had to choose between protecting the book or protecting a wheel of Fereldan, cave matured cheddar I’m not sure the book would come out unscathed.”

“We all have our weak spots: I can’t begrudge that. So, did you like school?”

Alistair’s lips tightened as he realised he had failed to distract her, though he couldn’t help but be a bit impressed. “You’re really tenacious, you know that?”

“I was just curious. I loved school.”

“So I'd figured,” he said with laugh. “School was alright. A bit stuffy and proper for me. A lot of knotting and reknotting ties and making sure socks were pulled high enough. Not really my cup of tea.”

“Sounds like a fairly formal institution.”

“I went to Hessarian’s Sacred Sword.”

“Really?” Celia said looking so comically taken aback he wished he had a camera. “But it’s so…”

“Posh? They have a pretty esteemed reputation, right? I don’t blame people for being surprised that I went. I’m not exactly their poster boy.”

“I didn’t mean…They’re very devout there, aren’t they?”

“Very,” Alistair said, drawing out the word.

“And are you?” she asked then bit her lip. “Sorry, that is such a personal question.”

Alistair laughed. “Hasn’t stopped you up until now.” Celia broke eye contact, looking embarrassed and he immediately felt bad.

“I research for a career and I may have a tendency to get carried away... And I’m used to dealing with history books and fragments of primary sources. I’m sorry: it's a bit of a novelty to have a subject that answers back, however evasively, but that was over the line,” she said with earnest apology.

Alistair rested his chin on his hand and made a show of fluttering his eyelashes. “One of your _subjects_! Should I be flattered?” He kicked himself internally again. He really had to stop flirting but he couldn’t seem to help himself. At least she laughed at that, taking it as a joke. Which it was. Mostly. Still, he quickly straightened his back and cleared his throat. “I didn’t quite meet up to Hessarian’s usual standards of floor licking religious devotion, as you seem to have guessed. Generally to even be accepted you have to write all these essays and do a presentation where you cry to the school board about how your heart beats only to serve the Maker and so forth…but my Uncle donated some money so I got a bit of a free pass. Skipped the performative grovelling and weeping.”

“Huh,” was all she said, but he could tell from her contemplative frown that she knew enough about the school to realise Eamon’s donation must have been very, very generous. “So you grew up in Redcliffe but boarded at Hessarian’s?”

“There you go: listening to me again. It’s pretty unnerving, you know that?”

“Do people generally not listen to you?” she asked sounding bemused.

“Yes. In fact I depend on it. Usually I get away with saying all sorts of stupid stuff. I’ll have to be careful around you.”

“I can’t help it. You’re interesting.”

Alistair snorted in disbelief. “Remind me to bring out my stamp collection later, if you’re really looking for a thrill.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Was it just for your final years?”

“Stamp collecting?” he asked, intentionally misunderstanding the question.

“Boarding,” Celia said, undeterred by his attempted evasion.

“I started when I was ten.”

Celia didn’t try to hide her disapproval, tilting her chin up and pursing her lips. “Ten? That’s so young! You would have been practically a baby.”

He shrugged, but secretly agreed. “There were kids who started younger.”

“But your mum and dad must have missed you terribly. I still slept in my parent’s bed after nightmares when I was ten!”

Alistair picked up a piece of scrap paper and began to shred the edge of it. “My parents were…not on the scene. I lived with my Uncle Eamon.”

“Oh no,” Celia said, her face creasing with guilt, “I shouldn’t have assumed. I’m sorry. I am interrogating you, aren’t I?” she stammered slightly.

“It’s okay. It’s not exactly…fresh for me, if you know what I mean. Don’t worry about it.” Feeling bad for her, he changed the subject. “Did you school locally then?”

“Yes, just near my house. I could walk there. It wasn’t particularly renowned but they did a good job and my parents got in tutors for me when needed. I’m so grateful…You must have been very brave as a child: I would never have coped being away from home.”

Alistair stared hard at the table and the tiny mountain of shredded paper he was creating. “I’m not sure I did cope.” When he glanced up she was giving him a worried look so he grinned at her, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands behind his head. “But I turned out kind of okay, despite the trauma. And the food was good.”

“Ah,” she laughed. “The most important part.”

“I see you are a woman of sound priorities,” he told her approvingly.

“Speaking of: shall we get dinner? I obviously need a break if I’m procrastinating this much which just isn’t fair on you.”

Alistair put a hand over his stomach. “Dinner sounds _incredible_.”

* * *

So the weeks continued, uneventful but comfortable. They talked over their morning coffees and lunch, eating on a bench in the courtyard when the weather allowed and occasionally sharing a scone or biscuit. Inside, Celia would fall into deep, prolonged periods of focus that he did his best to respect, though sometimes she would read him something from her research that had amused her. When she worked late, they would get dinner too, pushing aside her papers to make space for takeout containers on the table. She always apologised for this though Alistair hardly minded: otherwise he likely would have been eating alone in front of a home renovation or crime rerun on TV.

There had been nothing even remotely resembling a security threat for many weeks. The protesters only lasted as long as the camera crews and then, their point presumably made, they disappeared off to fight their next cause just as Duncan had predicted. There didn’t seem to be much to worry about at all.

This sense of complacency meant it came as a shock one morning when Alistair rounded the corner of a bookshelf and saw a man near the door. Bracing himself, Alistair observed the stranger for a moment. He seemed to be staring up into the corners of the room as if looking for something. Towards the security cameras, Alistair realised with a start.

“What are you doing here?” Alistair asked, stepping out quickly and with all the authority he could muster. He was gratified to see the man jump before he regained composure, regarding Alistair with a sneer.

“I could ask you the same question. You don’t strike me as a librarian. Generally being able to read is a precursor…” he said, looking Alistair up and down.

“I work here. And I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Are you now? In case you really can’t read, the sign outside says ‘public’ library.”

“This area is currently off limits. Which there is also a sign for, in case _you_ can’t read.”

“If you had any idea who I am…” the man said quietly, his tone unmistakably threatening.

Alistair gritted his teeth. “I do know who you are.”

“Do you now? Impress me then.”

“You’re someone who is not allowed in this area. Please leave.”

The man laughed coldly. “Or you’ll…?”

“Mr Howe!” At Celia’s voice the man’s demeanour shifted completely, the venomous smirk evaporating as he looked past Alistair.

“The delightful Celia herself! Well I never. Have you grown taller again in just a few short months? Look at you: just radiant,” he crooned and the hairs on Alistair neck stood up though Celia took the man’s outstretched hand and let out a self-conscious titter.

“I almost didn’t believe my eyes! So good to see you,” she told him sincerely.

“You almost didn’t get to. I think I was about to be clubbed and placed under citizen’s arrest by this golem here,” Howe said, looking briefly at Alistair.

“Oh, there is some security. Tevinter insisted,” she said dismissively, sounding embarrassed and not looking at him. Alistair had to admit it smarted a little that she didn’t use his name.

The man was all concern, his face creasing with worry as he clasped Celia’s hand more tightly in his own. “My dear, are you in danger?”

“No, of course not. You know what the Tevinter are like about their property. Comes with the having the book.”

Howe glanced at Alistair “I see: a package deal. I’m surprised they trust a Fereldan Security Company.”

“They probably couldn’t find anyone in Tevinter willing to come. Apart from the weather and lack of culture you know…politics,” she finished airily, pulling her hand free so she could gesture ambiguously.

“Of course. I hear you’ve created quite a stir.”

“I hope it will be worth it. There I was trying to establish common ground and all I’ve done is deepen existing rifts so far.”

“You’ll do great things, just like your father. I have no doubt of it.”

“My father’s legacy is an extremely daunting one,” Celia told him, cringing slightly.

“As I well know. I’ve walked in his shadow long enough to know how you must feel,” the man consoled her. “But you’re a brilliant, rising star, in your own right.” Celia coloured and looked at her feet, apparently lost for words and Alistair tried not to roll his eyes. What was he: jealous? Of this old man? “But I must be keeping you from your work! I shouldn’t have disturbed you at all but couldn’t bear the thought of being so close and not giving you my well wishes in person.”

“Not at all. It’s good to see someone from home. I miss everyone terribly.”

"Not as much as they miss you I dare say."

“How are my parents? How’s everyone in the faculty? How’s Nate?”

Howe looked amused by the last question. “Young Nathan, I am sorry to report, fell into the most tremendous sulk when you left and hasn’t climbed out of it yet. Can barely get a civil word out of him. Keep that between us, would you? He would be furious I’m telling you.”

Celia laughed and tugged uneasily at the hem of her jumper. “I thought he might be annoyed at me. He’s stopped answering my emails.”

“He’s moody that one! Don’t know where he gets it from. But then I can’t blame him he is…he does miss you. You’ve always been such fast friends. Don’t hold it against him.”

“I won’t: I’ve known him too long. Tell him I said ‘hi’ anyway. He can visit, if he wants to. If he forgives me.”

“Now you have nothing to be sorry for: no one could resent you for taking an opportunity like this! Such a considerable grant and at your age. You’re all anyone is talking about back in Highever. No one has put us on the academic map like this since your father, naturally.”

Celia laughed. “Don’t say that. Nothing makes me more nervous than people thinking of me as ‘Bryce Cousland’s daughter’.”

“You’ll do this properly,” Howe assured her, “And I must leave you to it. I think your guard dog is going to start frothing at the mouth if he doesn’t stand down soon.” Celia shot him a perplexed look and Alistair realised how tense he was. He gave her a nod and then walked away, giving them some space to say their goodbyes. Guard dog? He would have been more offended if it didn’t truly feel like his hackles were up.

He waited, sitting on the edge of Celia’s desk next to her laptop, his arms folded. “He is not meant to be in here,” Alistair told her when she followed him back, still smiling vaguely from the encounter.

“I know: I told him and he won’t do it again. He was just looking for me.”

“Friend of yours?” he asked, trying to sound less surly. Alistair knew he was overreacting but he had taken an instant dislike to the man.

“Friend of my father’s more like. Kind of. They enjoy a respectful debate and they both teach in the same field so we’ve always had a lot to do with the Howe’s. We spent a lot of time at their estate when I was a child and vice versa. Fergus, and I always got on pretty well with their kids.”

“Mr Howe there seemed to think you got on _very_ well with Nate.”

“Are you implying something?” she said sounding amused.

“He was implying something more like.”

Celia laughed lightly then sighed. “Wishful thinking. On his part. Our parents always kind of joked about us…I wouldn’t go so far as to say that they wanted it for us. Maybe on some level. There may have been some encouragement.”

“Like an arranged marriage?”

Celia’s amusement disappeared and she looked appalled. “Nothing was arranged! Maker. It just would have been very neat and convenient. But it didn’t work out that way between us.”

“I’m not sure Mr Howe got that memo.” Celia gave a half shrug and didn’t reply, evidently tiring of the line of questioning. She sat down at her laptop, ignoring the fact he was still on the desk. Alistair, surprised by his own directness, dived in again with: “You were never tempted to try?”

He saw her stiffen a little in her chair, hesitating before answering and perhaps trying to decode the intent behind the question. “Honestly, we did, for a time. We were _teenagers_. But we probably shouldn’t have. I have so much respect for him…but we were both looking for something and it wasn’t each other,” she said.

“And what was that?”

Celia let out a breathy laugh and picked up a book, flipping through the pages haphazardly to find her place. “For him? To get as far away from Highever as possible. For me? I have no idea. I’m till trying to figure that out.”

“Hmm,” Alistair said. 

She put the book down loudly, stood up suddenly and began to tug her jumper off. “Maker, it’s hot in here isn’t it?” she asked, her voice briefly muffled as she pulled the jumper over her head.

Alistair tapped his chin. “Not really.”

“Why are you so interested anyway?”

Alistair got off her desk, raising his hands to show he was finished but still couldn’t resist pointing out her hypocrisy. “You’re allowed to ask me a thousand, pointed questions but I can’t ask you anything? Is that how this is going to go?”

“Okay,” Celia laughed guiltily. “I deserved that. And I don’t mind it really.”

“I’ll have to think of something really good to ask next time then.”

She threw her jumper towards another chair and it missed, crumpling to the floor without her noticing. “Can’t wait,” she said sounding amused and casting an intrigued look his direction, before she sat in front of her laptop once more.


	4. Sightseeing

Eamon hadn’t returned his call and still wasn’t answering when Alistair tried him again one day after work. Despite the fact that Alistair had spent the last decade keeping his Uncle at arm’s reach, it still made him bristle with irritation to be ignored in turn. Anora hadn’t contacted him again and Alistair was beginning to wonder if it had all been a mistake. Still, it would have been good to discuss it with Eamon, the only person in Thedas who had any insight into the whole situation. But Eamon was clearly too busy with his proper family to waste so much as ten minutes on Alistair.

Feeling neglected, Alistair instinctively sought out the one person who could always be depended on to fuss over him and was surprised to see Celia hovering near Wynne’s door when he arrived. The two women seemed in near mirth about something: Wynne had a hand clamped over her mouth and Celia was dabbing away tears of laughter. “Hope you’re not talking about me,” he said as a way of alerting them to his arrival.

Taking another moment to compose herself, Celia finally explained: “Wynne was just telling me this story that Professor Genitivi apparently used to start his third year units with.” Celia and Wynne exchanged a look and Celia snickered.

“Sounds like it must be a good story,” Alistair said, wondering if they were planning on enlightening him.

“It is,” Wynne said enigmatically, knowing full well how much he hated being left out of a joke.

Celia took pity on him. “He was part of a group doing fieldwork in the Mire. They were trying to date some carvings in a rock near The Weeping Spires and realised they were looking at a code. A map! The phrase they translated was: _‘Join me to be alone’_ –”

“Sounds grim,” Alistair said.

“Exactly,” Celia said looking pleased. “It led them to believe they were on the trail for a burial site of some significance. Only after three weeks of misery and disaster later, they emerged from the bog –”

"Half-drowned and furious with each other,” Wynne interjected.

“To find nothing but a forest clearing.” Celia looked at him triumphantly.

“Huh?” Alistair said.

“You see? It’s a paradox! To be alone: _join me_? The clearing was intended for meditation. There was no ancient tomb and certainly no valuable relics. Just empty space.” This only served to send both her and Wynne into another fit of giggling.

“To their considerable disappointment,” Wynne added.

“Riiight,” Alistair said, knowing it was pointless to feign understanding. “Must have had all the students rolling about on the floor, clutching their sides. A paradox…Hilarious.” He said it sarcastically but the women nodded in agreement, either oblivious or uncaring.

“I almost wish I had done a term in Denerim, just to meet him,” Celia told Wynne wistfully.

“He’s hard to catch these days. As devoted to his fieldwork as ever I understand. Not sure how he does it! Though I don’t like to admit it, my knees would protest far too much for some of the journeys he still insists on undertaking.”

“A real legend,” Celia said with genuine awe then she glanced at Alistair. “But I really need to get going: I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time Wynne.”

“It’s been a pleasure. No doubt I will see you soon,” Wynne said sincerely as Celia gave both her and Alistair a wave and headed out towards the main lobby.

“See you,” he yelled after her and Celia paused in the hall and checked her watch.

“In about fourteen hours for work,” she said over her shoulder with a laugh.

“Counting down are you?” he joked in a vaguely suggestive way and Wynne coughed pointedly beside him. Celia shook her head and laughed.

“Bye Wynne,” Celia said, ignoring his last comment and continuing on her way out.

“Made a new friend?” Alistair teased as Wynne ushered him inside her flat.

“She was just dropping off some books we had talked about,” Wynne said, gesturing towards a stack on the coffee table that Alistair would have easily considered to be a lifetime’s supply. “It’s incredibly embarrassing, but it turns out she quoted one of my public presentations in her final thesis. I almost didn’t believe her, but she brought proof.”

Alistair squinted at Wynne and, with delight, realised she was blushing. “She obviously has good taste. Who better to quote than you Wynne? In any instance really.”

“Is everyone conspiring to flatter me today?” Wynne said, raising her eyebrows, “Or do you just need me to sew something?”

“I’m just pleased you get along.”

Alistair began to fill the kettle noting that it was warm from recent use. Celia must have stayed for some time and Wynne confirmed this by placing two empty cups near the sink before reaching for fresh ones. “She is a charming young woman. And I must confess, though I have long left my days of true intellectual engagement behind me, it is refreshing to talk to someone so passionate and full of new ideas.”

“She’s really smart, huh?”

“Very bright indeed.”

“Look at you,” Alistair teased. “Practically gushing. Didn’t you say _I_ was the one going all puppy dog around her?”

“People in glass houses Alistair,” Wynne said quickly.

“What?”

“You should have seen your face when you came around the corner. It was like a child’s on Midwinter morning.”

“I was happy to see _both_ of you.”

“Both of us, hmm? You didn’t even glance at me. I may occasionally wear glasses but I’m not blind.”

“No, no, no.” Alistair said, shaking the tea caddy at her. “This is not fair. I was meant to be teasing you. Don’t turn this around on me!”

Wynne gave him a self-satisfied look. “Work has still been going well?” she asked, mercifully changing the subject.

“Yeah. It’s pretty nice to be out there doing something. Even if that something is standing around a library day in, day out.”

“It sounds as if Celia keeps fairly long hours by her own report.”

Alistair snorted. “That’s putting it lightly. I’ve never met anyone with an attention span that long. We were there until 11:00PM on Tuesday. She didn’t even realise it was getting dark outside and sat there, totally engrossed until she was just about falling asleep on her laptop,” he said fondly, remembering seeing her eyes droop as she slowly sagged towards the book she had propped open in front of her. It had only been when he made a joke about turning back into a pumpkin if they made it to midnight that she had looked at the time and startled herself awake, fretting and apologising to him the whole trip home.

Wynne’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That must be tiring for you. Are you sure you’re okay working that much?”

“It would be an issue if I actually had to do anything but it is all pretty relaxed. No attempts on the book and the protesters have gotten bored. Haven’t been hit by a single placard. Bit disappointing in truth.”

“Are you bored?” she asked pointedly.

He averted his gaze and stared out the window. “No more than usual. Less than usual actually. At least I get to wander around a bit,” he told her. “And Celia’s there,” he added as an afterthought then immediately regretted it.

“I see,” Wynne said in an airy tone as she began to lay out the tea things. Still staring out the window, Alistair couldn’t see her face but he didn’t need to. He chose not to respond any further and eventually Wynne asked: “Have you made any plans for your weekend?”

“Yes,” Alistair said, turning back to her. He let out a derisive snort when Wynne paused what she was doing to look at him with surprise. “Oh come on. I do things. Sometimes!”

“It is just that I have just become so accustomed to your answer being ‘work’,” she said as she reached around him to pick up the kettle.

“Not this time, sorry to defy your expectations. Actually, Celia and I were going to do some sightseeing. She hasn’t had a chance since she moved here. Hasn’t even seen Fort Drakon yet, can you believe it? Who comes to Denerim and doesn’t get photographed at the gallows?”

Wynne pursed her lips and turned her face away. “That sounds nice.”

Alistair took a seat at the table and folded his arms. “Does it? Because your voice is saying ‘nice’ but your face is saying ‘lemons’.”

“You and Celia are spending a lot of time together.”

“It’s mostly for work.”

“And now it is both your work time and your free time.”

Alistair flapped a hand casually. “We barely speak when she is doing whatever she does at the library. I’m there for the book, remember? We don’t have anything to do with each other. I never even see her.” This was patently false but somehow Alistair felt that arguing that he _liked_ spending so much time with Celia wasn’t going to work in his favour here.

Wynne put a teaspoon in a cup and stirred ponderously and Alistair could already tell she had seen right through his feeble protests. “But obviously you would like to have more to do with each other? Hence your weekend plans?” she asked, tapping the spoon on the rim of the cup delicately.

“What does that mean?”

“It just seems like an unhealthy amount of time to spend with another person. A person who you only just met. “

Her tone was light and wholly without aggression but Alistair felt as if she had slapped him. Wynne continued to innocently arrange the sugar dish and milk jug on a tray. “Unhealthy? Isn’t that a bit harsh?”

She put the tea tray on the table decisively in front of him. Alistair took up a piece of iced bun and began to eat it with agitation. “A couple of months ago you had never met. Now, quite suddenly, you live next door to her, work with her and spend your weekends with her? A married couple might see less of each other.”

Alistair inhaled some crumbs and gagged. When he had recovered himself, he protested emphatically: “I didn’t choose to be her neighbour or to get posted working with her. It just _happened_. Should I move apartments? Quit my job?”

“But the cosy little sightseeing outing? That you did choose.”

“Yeah. So what?” Alistair said with a bit too much sullenness and he immediately regretted it. He gave Wynne an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, you’re bringing out the surly adolescent in me. It isn’t fair on you.”

Wynne stretched over the table and patted his hand to show she was unbothered. “No, I deserve it: I am lecturing you after all. I’m just worried about you dear.”

“Worried? Worried about what? That I’ll be trampled by overenthusiastic tourists looking for a commemorative snow globe in the Fort Drakon gift shop?”

“I am worried about you and Celia. This is all happening very fast.”

Alistair carefully put the rest of his bun down on his plate before he choked on it again. “I know what you are implying and I’m choosing to ignore it,” he said, in a deliberately measured tone.

Wynne tapped her chin thoughtfully. “But not denying it I note.”

“Nothing to deny,” he said with a shrug. “It would be unprofessional. She’s a client.”

“Wouldn’t going sightseeing with her on the weekend also be unprofessional? Wouldn’t having a client who is also your neighbour be unprofessional? Wouldn’t Duncan agree? I must assume he doesn’t know…”

Alistair huffed. “Does it ever get tiring?”

“What dear?” she asked, clearly perplexed.

“Being right all the time?”

Wynne laughed. “Exhausting.” She gave him a more serious look. “I mean it Alistair. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Are you trying to protect my honour? Are you worried about my reputation as a lady? And rumours that may damage my prospects of making a good marriage?” Alistair said in an affected voice.

“She may be very charming and very pretty but what does she want from life Alistair? It may not be in Denerim. I just want you to know that you don’t need to rush into anything that might not last.”

“Firstly, there is nothing like ‘that’ going on,” Alistair said, with emphasis.

“Like ‘that’ hmm? I’m not sure I understand what you are referring to. Perhaps you could clarify it for me, Alistair?” she said with a twinkle in her eyes. Alistair hated how much she was enjoying this.

“ _Shenanigans_.”

Wynne chuckled and shook her head at him. “Very well.”

“Secondly, she will be gone in a matter of months. Back to Highever.”

“I know. That’s part of what concerns me.”

“What could possibly happen that is so terrible in just a few months? I have laundry that doesn’t get done in that timeframe.”

Wynne flinched. “Alistair please. You have illustrated your point very vividly indeed.”

“Thirdly, she isn’t a monster. You’ve met her!”

“In passing, yes.”

Alistair scoffed. “Are you going to pretend you don’t like her now? What was all that then? When I just got here?”

“I do like her: that is very true. She just seems…more worldly than you.”

“I’m trying to be insulted but it is hard when you’re putting more iced bun onto my plate.”

Wynne shot him a smug look. “Just as I planned.”

* * *

Wynne’s concern was not enough to dampen Alistair’s enthusiasm for his day out with Celia. It had been too long since he himself had done the rounds of central Denerim. Still surprised she had agreed to his half-joking suggestion that they even do this; Alistair was in turn looking forward to seeing Celia’s reaction to everything then moments later, worried she would have an awful time. He would hardly consider himself to be a particularly organised, Type-A personality, however he had spent much of the week strategizing about how best to make use of the hours in the day and had crafted an itinerary that was as close to perfect as he could get it. It was a casual sightseeing outing sure, but felt strangely critical to him that she enjoy herself.

They had set off early and caught a train to the central station after Celia had knocked on his door for a change. This show of eagerness pleased him greatly, though he was surprised by it, a bowl of cereal dregs in his hand as he greeted her. “You haven’t forgotten, have you?” she asked apprehensively. She was wearing one of her usual, oversized jumpers, with a faded pair of jeans, ankle boots and a parka. He had never met anyone who consistently looked so lovely while clearly making so little effort.

“Forgotten? No way. I just need a few minutes to finish my makeup and curl my hair,” he said, fluttering his eyelashes at her.

She laughed and leaned against his door frame to wait. “Good. Because I’ve been really looking forward to this.”

Alistair’s ears went hot and he grinned at her like the absolute daft fool that he was. “Grilliant.”

She gave him a puzzled look. “What?”

“I…I think I tried to say ‘great’ and ‘brilliant’ at the same time.”

“Ah. Marvellful,” she told him, her eyes crinkling with amusement. “That’s ‘marvellous’ and ‘wonderful’ together.”

“Yeah I got it. Very clever,” he said drily.

“It’s not like you to struggle with words Alistair. You must be half asleep.”

“Yeah,” he laughed sheepishly, pleased to take whatever excuse he could that wasn’t: _‘I was distracted by how beautiful you look’_. “I need a coffee,” he added.

“Then hurry up and get ready so we can go,” she urged, shooing him back inside.

The weather was overcast and chilly, more so when the breeze kicked up. Emerging from the underground in Central Denerim, Celia shivered and zipped up her parka. “I’m supposed to be used to the cold.”

“Highever winters are brutal, aren’t they?” Alistair asked.

She was scrabbling around in her pockets. “Where in Thedas are my gloves? I didn’t even think I’d need them today! Yes, Highever is much worse than this. But somehow it feels colder when you’re surrounded by all this cement and glass.”

“As opposed to snowy forests and stormy oceans?” he asked as he gestured in the direction of their first destination and they began to walk down the cobblestone street.

“I didn’t say it made sense! Besides, I’m not out in the weather for most of the winter at home. I’m more likely in an armchair with a book next to a roaring fireplace.”

“Ahh. Instead of being forced out into the elements for the sake of a few tourist traps by your maniac of a neighbour.”

“You didn’t force me to do anything. You were right: it would be a waste to come here and then not see anything of the city. I’m really glad you suggested this,” she said, then quickly added. “Winters must have been mild in Redcliffe.”

“They were. Didn’t stop us from complaining all the time though,” he said with a laugh. “One cloudy day and we all acted like it was the coming of an ice age.”

“I think that is a given wherever you are: it’s all relative. That said, what exactly is your plan for the day and does it involve being outdoors a lot?” she asked, pulling up the hood of her parka.

Alistair tutted and prodded the button on a pedestrian crossing. “You’re so _weak_. It’s not even snowing.”

“Excuse me! Do all the tour guides in Denerim begin by insulting their guests?” she asked with an attempt at aloofness.

“This is risky but I was planning to take you to the Chantry first,” he said to placate her.

“Why is that risky? I doubt they will talent scout me as a Sister.”

“Because they have a massive library and I’m worried that once I set you loose I won’t be able to convince you to go anywhere else today.”

Celia’s face lit up at the word ‘library’. “Lead the way!” she said with enthusiasm.

Despite his concern, Alistair was able to extract Celia from the library after a couple of hours. These he spent, following her around, as she pawed gently at the spines books and sighed. Every now and then she would point out a title to him with reverence, reading it in a whisper. Alistair responded with an escalating series of impressed hums though had no clue what the significance of any given text might be. When they got to some of the more ancient and expensive looking books that were displayed beneath glass, she did give him some brief rundowns of their history and contents.

She stopped with a gasp near a book that didn’t look as old as the rest but was still protected in a case. “Wow,” she whispered. Alistair dipped his head to hear her better. “A first edition copy of ‘ _Tales of the Destruction of Thedas_.” Her voice was thick with longing, and she nearly pressed her face against the glass in her efforts to get a better look. “Isn’t it amazing? He’s signed it too.”

“Incredible,” Alistair said as convincingly as he could manage.

“Genitivi wrote that the human heart, when wounded, is capable of being more destructive than any weapon.”

“Hmm,” said contemplatively.

“As a much as I admire him as a scholar, he is not above critique. He frames history through the lens of his own faith. He can’t help but try and structure every past event as a morality tale to suit his religious agenda. It narrows his scope significantly.”

“Hm,” Alistair agreed.

“But he certainly has a way with words. And his passion for making new discoveries is just insatiable. He has contributed so much in the way of primary sources.”

“Hmm,” Alistair said sagely.

“See that photo of the stained glass on the inside of the cover? I think that is in this building. It depicts the moment Archon Hessarian took mercy on Andraste and plunged his sword into her heart to end her suffering on the pyre,” Celia explained with a swift stabbing motion that startled him.

“Hm!” Alistair said, suppressing a surprised laugh that would have gotten them both in trouble for being too loud.

Oblivious, Celia continued: “And see the snakes at the bottom of the window? Some scholars theorise they represent Maferath, and are symbolic of the betrayal and duplicity that lead to Andraste’s execution. Hessarain holds the blade that ultimately kills her but is not her true enemy, you see?”

“Ahh.”

“Of course, the Chantry preaches that Maferath was jealous of Andraste’s profound love for the Maker,” Celia said with a snort. “But more likely he was jealous of her power and the lands she ruled over.”

“Hm,” Alistair said with a nod.

Celia continued to happily burble out a spiel of facts, and Alistair began to tune out, instead enjoying watching her. She spoke in hushed tones to avoid disturbing the other guests and Chantry scholars, but still with such irresistible eagerness that Alistair couldn’t look away, her eyes alight with feverish joy over one dusty old book or another.

Ordinarily, visiting a Chantry would send Alistair to sleep, but by the time they left Celia was invigorated and he found her energy contagious. “What’s next?” she asked with enthusiasm.

“Well Fort Drakon isn’t a long walk from here. If you can stand any more history that is.”

Celia’s clapped her hands together once in excitement. “I’ve read so much about it. Which way?”

Alistair laughed. “Didn’t think that would put you off.”

After slowly touring the Fort and learning (with no real surprise) that Celia was the kind of person who read every single placard and information sheet, Alistair forced her to pose at the gallows.

“Isn’t it a little tasteless?” Celia asked.

He pulled off his glove so he could access his phone camera. “It’s tradition. You can’t say you’ve truly been to Denerim otherwise.”

“Fine,” she said, and stood reluctantly with her arms folded and a frown.

“That’s great. Absolutely perfect,” he told her, “You look so unhappy about getting hanged. Really getting into character. Here is the scene: you were caught stealing a neighbour’s chicken. Can you look angrier? You just wanted that chicken so badly. Be the chicken thief. Embody the poultry plunderer! Yes! Exactly like that,” he continued to tease and managed to take the picture just at the moment when she cracked and started to laugh.

“That was unfair!” she said, still laughing as she returned to his side. Alistair examined the photo and tutted.

“Celia I’m ashamed of you. Photographed standing at the gallows and laughing. So disrespectful. Can’t believe you found all that capital punishment so funny. People died you know,” he lectured her until she made a successful grab for his phone and sprinted away, scattering pigeons in the courtyard. “Hey!” he yelled, giving chase. She stopped fairly quickly and he caught up to her easily.

“I was going to delete it but I don’t know your passcode,” she explained sounding defeated.

“Shame because I happen to like it. I might make it my background.”

“Ugh,” she said and glanced at his phone then at the distant river as if estimating if she could outpace him again.

“You’re a common thief and a vandal now? I think you got a bit too into character up there at the gallows.”

She held the phone out to him without any further protest. “If you make that your background I will dedicate my life to taking an unflattering picture of you and making it mine.”

“It’s a deal and good luck to you: there’s no such thing as an unflattering picture of me,” he said with a laugh as she scoffed. As he took the phone his hand brushed against hers and he recoiled. “Where are your gloves? Your fingers are icy.”

“I couldn’t find them,” she said, looking embarrassed and putting her hands behind her back.

“You’ve just been walking around like that all morning and you didn’t say anything? They might have got frostbitten!”

Celia rolled her eyes. “You’re the one who said it wasn’t even that cold! It’s fine. What are we doing next?”

She was obviously trying to distract him and he didn’t push her. “Ferry ride on the river.”

Celia gaped at him. “Seriously?”

“Yeah? What? Bad?” Perhaps she suffered from seasickness?

“No! Not bad!” she laughed as he looked on in confusion. “Amazing actually. Do you work for the Denerim Tourism Bureau or something?”

“Ah, my side hustle. You’ve caught me. Shall we go?”

Despite her accusation that he was a seasoned tour guide, once on the ferry, Celia started to point out landmarks and significant buildings along the waterfront to him. She had to raise her voice to be heard over the motor. She pointed over the railing and Alistair peered in the same direction. “That rock actually marks the place where Andraste was born. Allegedly anyway. Back when Denerim was just a tiny fishing village.” The same frigid wind that was making his nose and cheeks feel numb whipped her hair around her face.

“Just a rock? Huh, no wonder I never noticed it before. Thought they would kick up a bit more of a fuss for her.”

“Well it was not a particularly idyllic childhood, and Denerim - not that Denerim as we know it existed then - was not where she gained any measure of renown. You know, all the conduit of the Maker, leader of armies stuff.”

“I’m vaguely familiar with that bit. Think I heard about it at school,” he told her wryly.

Celia smiled sympathetically. “Just once or twice?”

“An hour,” he said with a grimace. “But mostly about the whispering voices and the love of the Maker. Not about fishing villages.”

Celia was flexing her hands and looked thoughtful. “Maybe this bit didn’t suit their agenda? Her birthplace would have held few happy memories for her. She witnessed the murder of her half-sister and it traumatised her so badly she became very ill.”

“Nasty stuff. I can see why they stuck with the discrete rock then.”

“I’m sure it has a plaque on it if you get up close. And look! There are the Denerim Markets!”

“I got pickpocketed there once,” Alistair told her excitedly.

“Why do you sound so proud of that?”

“Well it was nice to be singled out. I had about two coppers in my wallet so it was very flattering they thought I was even worth robbing.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, but it sounded like a compliment and made him grin goofily at her. Celia looked back at view of Denerim, skimming her eyes along the rows of waterfront restaurants and up the office blocks. “Can you imagine all of this as a tiny little village? A few huts, one dock with a handful of boats moored at it and that’s it? And certainly none of these skyscrapers. That one must be Theirin Industries, the tallest one by far at the centre there. I think they made their point: it certainly sticks out. Such obnoxious grandstanding...”

Distracted and not really listening, Alistair didn’t answer. He had notice she was rubbing her hands together almost frantically now and although she hadn’t complained any further about the cold, it was beginning to bother him. Without thinking, he caught her hands and cupped them in his.

“What are you doing?” she asked, eyes wide.

That was a good question. Now that he had her hands, he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “I can’t stand how cold you obviously are.”

“I didn’t say anything!” she protested.

“But I have eyes.” He let go of her hands. “Take mine,” he said, quickly pulling off his gloves.

“No,” she said and then added, “Don’t be absurd!” when he held them out to her.

“I’m the one who brought you out here today. I’ve inflicted this upon you. It’ll be my fault if your fingers drop off.”

“It’s my fault I didn’t bring my own gloves so don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll be miserable if you refuse. It’ll ruin my whole day,” he sniffed for dramatic effect.

“Alistair. I’m not going to take them,” she told him firmly.

Pinching the gloves between two fingers he dangled them over the side of the boat. “Take them or I’ll throw them overboard.” He jerked them about a bit and then, for effect, added an: “Avast!”

Celia watched him, apparently gobsmacked, then relented. “Fine! Maker give me strength: I can’t believe you.” She reluctantly held out her hands before her and he placed the gloves in them victoriously. She stared at them for a moment then frowned at him in a thoughtful way. “You’re actually kind of manipulative, did you know that?”

“That’s a first for me. I’ll take it as a compliment.”

She pulled the gloves on and they both laughed at how big they were on her. She wiggled her fingers experimentally but then looked at him, brow creasing. “Now your hands will be cold. This doesn’t solve anything.”

He shoved them into his jacket pockets. “They’re fine.”

She didn’t say anything. In fact, she went quiet for the first time since the ferry ride had started. But as they continued to stand at the railing, Alistair felt her arm press against his with the faintest pressure. It was such a light touch it may have been unintentional but as he watched the water churn underneath the ferry, he could think of nothing else.

Once on the dock Celia pointed at a small, takeaway coffee van. “At least let me get you a something warm to hold,” she told him. “Can I finally convince you to have that hot cocoa?”

“I think you can,” he said, grinning.

Drinks acquired, they sat on a bench overlooking the waterfront that was conveniently sheltered from the wind by a large oak. Gratefully wrapping his fingers around his hot drink, Alistair jutted his chin at the view of the river. “See? This place isn’t so bad really. All that whining you did about how horrible Denerim is…”

Celia laughed self-consciously. “Fine. I’ll admit it has been a good day.”

“Knew you’d come around.”

“But!” she said quickly. “I wasn’t finished! _But_ I still hate this city. It is horrible.”

Alistair recoiled in mock offense. “How could you! And I worked so hard to win you over.”

“It’s nothing personal. I didn’t know you were so passionate about advocating for Denerim’s reputation.”

“Well, you didn’t need to say you hated it right to its face is all. So cruel.”

“It’s listening is it?”

“Always,” Alistair told her in a conspiratorial voice that made her laugh. “But really. What’s so bad about it?”

She took a moment to answer. “Really the problem is that it just isn’t home. Perhaps I am judging it unfairly.”

“You’re homesick?” she nodded, looking forlorn. “Highever must be very different,” he said consolingly.

“It is.” She smiled just to think of it, her eyes glazing over. It made Alistair feel a stab of something sharp and painful in his chest to see her look so wistful for a place she could go back to and be expected and welcomed. It was not a feeling he was familiar with. Eventually she spoke again, “It’s a lot greener there.”

“Green?” Alistair scoffed. “Look at all this wonderfully dreary grey cement. Who needs green! Isn’t it delightfully dingy? What about these nice beige walls? And this beautiful river? Looks like overbrewed coffee, smells like sewerage. That doesn’t satisfy you? You still want _plants_?”

She laughed. “I see I’m not the only one who has noticed the uniquely cheerless colour palette of this place. Redcliffe isn’t exactly a metropolis. Didn’t you feel the same as I do, when you first got here?”

“A bit, yes. But there were things I liked too. I guess I tried to focus on those.”

“I’m getting the sense that you’re a glass-half-full kind of guy.”

“I confess: I’m widely known for my unrelenting, perky optimism and go-getter attitude,” Alistair said in a deadpan voice that made Celia briefly choke on a mouthful of hot cocoa. He thumped her helpfully on the back a few times. “I’m sorry!” he managed to get out through his own laughter.

“Maker. Okay. Whew,” she said, dabbing at some tears. “You’re funny,” she told him, simply and earnestly. It made Alistair feel like a spotlight had suddenly been turned on him.

“I do my best,” he said with an uncomfortable chuckle.

“Tell me then, what are some of the things you like about this place. Maybe if you highlight some of Denerim’s redeeming features I might yet be convinced of its charms.”

“‘Charms’ might be a strong word for this context but I’ll try.”

“Go for it. I’m ready for my conversion.”

“There is an Orlesian bakery downtown that makes the most incredible eclairs in all Fereldan.”

“Promising, but I feel like I will have to be the judge of that.”

“That can be arranged. Hmm…There is a caravan that sets up by the docks and does fish and chips. They’re not there on any schedule though so they’re hard to…catch,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. Celia shoved him lightly.

“I get it. What else?”

“Have you been to that pub a few blocks from us? The Nug’s Tail? It does a cheesy dip –”

“Alistair. These are all _food_.”

He ignored her. “And you can get a proper Full Fereldan Breakfast with eggs, toast, black pudding, beans–”

“I get it! Do you want me to roll back to Highever? Is that it?”

“Are you implying that comfort eating is not a healthy coping mechanism?”

“I’m onboard with the food. I love the food. But is there a single thing in this city that you like that doesn’t involve eating?”

Alistair pondered this while Celia looked on expectantly. “Herald’s Park. I go for runs there and…I like the ducks. Someone built little ramps for them to get in and out of the lake more easily.” Celia stared at him like he was speaking in tongues. “In the spring there are ducklings too, lots of them wobbling about in fluffy little clusters. Always cheers me up,” he explained as Celia blinked at him.

“Alistair,” she said seriously after processing this for a long time.

“What?”

“Alistair,” she said again in a drawn-out way that made him nervous. “Has anyone ever told you that you are dangerously charming?”

He scoffed. “Dangerously? What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Celia finished a last mouthful of hot chocolate before answering. “I’ll leave you to puzzle over that one. I’m not going to spell it out,” she said, before getting up to take her serviette to the bin as Alistair watched on, grinning and dumbstruck for a moment before jumping up to follow her.


	5. Midwinter

Alistair and Cullen were the last ones in the locker room after football practice and as usual, it was Alistair’s fault.

“How have you been?” Cullen asked as Alistair sat on the bench to unlace his shoes. Cullen himself was of course already showered, dressed and ready to leave, leaning against a locker and waiting to give him a lift. Alistair hadn’t meant to hold him up: he had just gotten chatting to some of the team after training, then had gone in search of the right flavour of drink at three separate vending machines, then had become distracted by a video of a Labrador in a swimming pool on his phone. Meanwhile, Cullen had probably written and published a hardback instructional manual on how to best iron trousers for the most obnoxiously perfect crease.

“Good,” Alistair said, concentrating on a knot.

“Good?”

“Why the note of surprise? Aren’t I always?”

“You always say ‘good’, but generally not as convincingly as that.”

Alistair rested his elbows on his knees and looked up at him, a smirk forming. “Do you want to talk about our feelings, Cullen? That’s not like you.”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “Something has obviously changed: that’s all I was commenting on.”

“I already told you: Duncan assigned me a job in the field. It feels pretty great to be doing something to be honest, even if there isn’t much to it.”

“This is progress. How long have I been telling you that you lack purpose in life?”

“Since the first moment we met, I think. It was: ‘ _Hi I’m Cullen and by the way you lack purpose_ ’. I clearly remember the look of revulsion on your face as you said it.”

“I’m pretty sure our first meeting actually had something to do with you borrowing a uniform shirt for an assembly after you had wrecked yours. All of them.”

“But you were thinking about it, weren’t you? You looked at me and thought: ‘ _What a lost cause. How does he expect to become a school Prefect like me?’_ ”

Cullen rubbed his forehead and not for the first time, Alistair wondered how his friend put up with him. “I never had any expectation you would be a Prefect. You clearly didn’t want to be one.”

“Are you telling me you don’t think I _could_ have been a Prefect? Some friend…” Alistair teased.

“What I think is irrelevant: you weren’t a Prefect. To my knowledge, you never applied.”

“You’re saying I would have been a bad at it. Wow, cold of you,” he joked.

But Cullen was not one for false flattery, which Alistair was all too aware of. “You would have been an atrocious Prefect. There were responsibilities involved. Deadlines. And additional schoolwork.”

Alistair laughed. “Yeah I would have sucked.”

“It’s good you’re taking on some more challenges at work. You do need to push yourself occasionally.”

“Um, did you not see me out there?” Alistair said, gesturing in the direction of the football field.

Cullen shook his head dismissively. “At something other than video games, finishing an entire four cheese pizza in one sitting and football.”

“Not everyone can be an overachiever like you and Leliana. Some of us need to be dismal failures to make the people like you look better. You should actually be grateful to me for that. A ‘thank you’ wouldn’t go astray.”

“Speaking of Leliana,” Cullen said, ignoring him. “She wanted me to confirm you will be attending her Midwinter drinks.”

“Her ‘Midwinter Mulled Wine and Mince Pie Mixer’? Why? I already messaged her saying I was going. And obviously I’ll be there: the clue is in the name. In what alternate reality would I ever say no to holiday themed baked treats? None, Cullen. _None_.”

Cullen cast his eyes around the locker room as if he already regretted what he was about to say. “She made me promise that I would prompt you to bring Celia. She said to do it in a subtle way, so that you thought it was your own idea to ask her. But frankly I don’t have the patience or inclination to attempt that. Just bring her.” He finished with a shrug.

Alistair gave Cullen a astonished look: the idea to ask Celia to come had never occurred to him. “You want me to bring her?”

Cullen folded his arms. “Leliana does, and some of the others.”

“Why?”

“I couldn’t care less why, Alistair.”

“Huh,” was all Alistair responded with as he pondered the idea. Come to think of it he had no idea what Celia’s Midwinter plans were. Unless Fergus was visiting, she had no friends, and no family in Denerim, and she hadn’t made any mention of travelling to Highever. She might be totally alone. In hindsight he should have asked her already.

Cullen’s limited patience was nearly at an end. “Can you hurry up and shower if you still want a lift? I have to be on base early tomorrow and you’re not getting in my car dripping with sweat. You’re revolting.”

“Yes Mum,” Alistair laughed as Cullen picked up an empty drink bottle and threw it at him.

* * *

They could hear shrieks of laughter, yelling and music from the party before they even reached Leliana’s front gate though it was only just before 8:00PM. Celia cast Alistair a look of bewilderment. “Guess they started early,” Alistair said with a shrug and Celia laughed in a strained sort of way. She was nervous, he realised, but he couldn’t think of anything to say to reassure her.

If Celia had been harbouring any concerns about not being welcomed by his friends, they must surely have been almost instantly dismissed upon arrival however. Barely two steps inside and Celia was torn away from him in what Alistair could only describe as a kidnapping by Leliana and a few of their other mutual friends. One-minute Celia was next to him, fiddling with the brown paper around the bottles of wine she had brought, remarking on the stained glass in the front door, the next she was being spirited up the hall, Leliana’s arm around her shoulder. Celia cast a glance behind her at him as he stood there stunned, still holding her coat.

“You must be Celia,” Leliana said warmly, her voice carrying. “Alistair has told me so much about your research.”

“I didn’t know he took any of that in!” Celia said. “Your house is beautiful.”

Leliana laughed and gave Celia’s shoulders a visible squeeze. “Aren’t you sweet? It is when it’s not in chaos and covered in detritus!”

They disappeared up the hall and Alistair registered that his friend hadn’t bothered to say so much as ‘hi’ to him. Left to his own devices and assuming Celia was in safe hands, Alistair wandered through the other guests until he found a group mainly comprised of his football team, placing the six-pack he had brought down in the middle of them and opening one himself.

“They’re a bit warm from the trip,” he warned them.

“Cullen said you were bringing someone,” was the only greeting he received from Carroll as the others stopped their conversation and looked at him with interest.

“Standing around gossiping, are you? Like old hens,” Alistair said, glancing about the group and wondering where Cullen was.

“Told you it was impossible,” said Bryant with a wink.

“I did actually,” Alistair said defensively. “But she’s just from work. And she’s in here. Somewhere,” he told them vaguely.

“So she’s already done a runner. How did you fuck it up with this girl this quickly Alistair?” Carroll teased and the group laughed.

“It isn’t like that. She’s just here as a friend.”

“Really? We all assumed you were finally getting some action: you haven’t been online for any games for weeks.”

“Yeah, and we’ve been winning more skirmishes because of it,” Bryant pointed out and Alistair scoffed at him dismissively.

“Rich coming from you, Bryant. Don’t you have a child to go and raise or something?” Bryant often had to drop out of their team abruptly for some domestic drama or another which usually meant they lost the game and Alistair’s retort seemed to shut him up for a moment.

Carroll however, was undeterred, elbowing Alistair as he went to drink, making him spill a little of his beer down his front. “But seriously: where have you been? I had to ask Cullen if we should all contribute to a funeral wreath to send to your family.”

“You saw me at practice last week,” Alistair pointed out, wishing they would drop the subject. “And where is Cullen anyway?”

“He couldn’t make it,” Bryant said and Alistair cursed internally. Cullen was always a moderating influence on the sometimes rowdy group. In fact, he probably would have shut this conversation down already. “You’ve still been pretty hard to get a hold of mate, outside of practice,” Bryant continued. “We’ve all been wondering what’s been going on.”

“Yeah, and what you’ve been getting up to with...her,” Carroll added suggestively.

“I’ve just been working. And she’s a client. She’s away from her family for Midwinter and…Leliana was the one who suggested I bring her.”

“So it’s nothing then? She really is _just_ a client?” Carroll asked.

“That’s right,” Alistair said, praying the man would get it through his thick skull before he said something in front of Celia. 

Carroll grinned slowly and Alistair felt a mounting unease. “Great. You won’t have any objections if I give her a shot then,” he said, smoothing back his hair with one hand and craning his neck to look around the room. “Provided she’s hot.”

He was obviously joking but Alistair felt a surge of blistering irritation. “Go ahead. But she’s really smart so I don’t think she will go for your type mate,” Alistair said scathingly and they all laughed, even Carroll.

“You never know: opposites attract eh, Alistair?” Carroll said, giving him another friendly shove. Alistair forced a laugh. The room was packed but he had finally spotted Celia on the opposite side of it, clustered with Leliana and some other women under a string of fairy lights. She smiled and said something as Leliana leaned towards her, reaching out to examine one of Celia’s dangling earrings. He looked away quickly, lest his friends notice. Obviously he was in no hurry to point her out or draw their attention to her, especially Carroll’s particular brand of attention.

Alistair spent the first part of the night in this fashion: talking to his friends and finishing drinks, restraining himself to only occasionally glancing over to see how Celia was doing. She was fine of course, not talking much but clearly absorbed by whatever conversation was happening around her. Sometime after he had put down another empty bottle, he looked up to check on her and saw her scanning the dimly lit room, searching groups, focusing on each face and dismissing it in turn. With a jolt he realised she was looking for him. He concentrated on her until her eyes finally met his and she smiled in relief. He mouthed _‘Okay?’_ at her and she nodded and mouthed: _‘You?’_ He gave her a quick thumbs up but then rolled his eyes. Celia put a hand over her mouth to cover a giggle then dropped her shoulders and did a brief, tired looking sigh. He grinned in sympathy, then with a small jerk of his head, gestured towards a door that lead to the kitchen. Understanding, she nodded, and began to extricate herself from her group, making apologies, holding up her empty wine glass to the group around her and pointing at it.

Planning to make his own excuses, Alistair turned his attention back to his friends only to find they were all silently staring at him. His throat suddenly dry, he tried to swallow. “Um, beer,” he managed to say, wondering how much of that they had witnessed and what totally false conclusions they were jumping to.

“So, you’re absolutely sure there is nothing going on there, pal?” Carroll asked.

“With the beers? No, I’d say I’m drinking a reasonable amount per week but thanks for your concern.”

“Righto,” Carroll said with amused scepticism and a chuckle ran around the group as Alistair walked away. He missed what was muttered next but he did catch when Carroll, clearly intending him to hear, loudly said: “So turns out she _is_ hot.”

The kitchen was a mess. Broken glass, half empty bottles and ravaged bowls of nuts covered every surface. Abandoned crisp packets littered the floor and a wash tub full of ice and drinks was spreading a puddle of condensation across the tiles which he stepped over carefully.

Thankfully though, the kitchen was empty of guests, except for Celia who was watching the door frame and clearly waiting for him when he walked in. “Are you going alright?” he said right away.

“Yes,” she answered with genuine enthusiasm. “Your friends are lovely, especially Leliana.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Though you looked like you needed an escape just now.”

She let out a breathy laugh that sounded more like a sigh. “The conversation was getting a bit out of my comfort zone, that’s all. But it was fine.” She averted her gaze and began reading the label on a random wine bottle from the table.

“Politics?” he asked, knowing Leliana.

She laughed awkwardly and poured herself some of the wine. “So to speak.”

Alistair’s curiosity was piqued. “There's a story in this. Why are you blushing?”

“I’m not!” she protested. “Wine always makes me go red in the face.”

“It came on very suddenly in that case. Right at the moment I asked what you had all been talking about. Odd.” She glared at him and he chuckled. “You know you’re really cute when you’re irritable. You get this little knot right between your…” Her glare intensified. “Oh, never mind. Come on: tell me what’s bothering you?”

She put her glass down on the table and trailed her finger around the base of it. “If you must know, there was a bit of confusion about us coming together. Some of your friends were labouring under the misapprehension that we are a couple.”

“Huh,” Alistair tried to say nonchalantly though his heart rate was increasing rapidly. “Why would anyone think that?”

“I have a few ideas,” she said, raising her chin in a defiant way that made him laugh. But to his surprise, she shot him an annoyed look.

“Reallllly? That makes it sound like you think it’s my fault. I’m not tiptoeing around putting anonymous letters into people’s mailboxes spreading rumours. Not about this anyway.”

“But there are some things you do which might give a casual observer the wrong idea,” Celia explained, her tone unmistakably cool.

Alistair was taken aback by her sudden haughtiness. “And are you going to enlighten me?”

“You walk very close to me.”

Alistair scoffed. “Because you’re so short! How am I meant to hear you otherwise?”

She took a couple of steps to close the space between them. “I’m sorry is this better?” she asked, then added with patronising clarity: “Can you hear me?”

“Obviously I can hear you!”

“There’s more you know. You always carry my bags of books home for me. You never even offer: you just pick them up and go.”

Alistair frowned. “Sorry I guess,” he said, unapologetically. “I didn’t realise it bothered you.”

“It doesn’t! I’m just saying…And sometimes when we need to wait to cross a road, you throw your arm out in front of me like you’re worried I might step into the traffic otherwise. I don’t think you even realise you’re doing it.”

“Honestly if this is the kind of nondescript thing that can confuse people then you are equally at fault.”

Celia reeled back slightly and raised her eyebrows. “Am I really?”

“Yeah. You want people to stop talking? Then stop grabbing my hand.”

“Maker,” she said in an exhale and rolled her eyes. “That was one time and it was an accident. I was trying to reach for my purse and it was your fault for walking so close to me. Like I told you.”

“And you always laugh at my jokes. Way more than anyone else. Even the stupid ones.”

“Maybe I feel sorry for you.”

“Or maybe I’m hilarious. What about yesterday?”

“What about it?”

“You took the lid off my coffee and blew on it before you handed it to me.”

“Because the previous day you scalded yourself!”

Before Alistair could respond a voice cut in. “And you two have hidden yourselves away in here like you couldn’t wait to get away from the rest of us,” Leliana said, appearing suddenly in the doorframe. They both stared at her, slightly aghast. “If you’re listing reasons why everyone thinks you’re a couple: that is one of them,” she clarified, picking up a few bottles from the kitchen table to see how much was left in them. Celia made a stuttering noise but didn’t manage to get any full words out in the Common Tongue. Alistair only gulped. “Oh, and your phone backgrounds are pictures of each other.”

“It’s a joke!” Alistair said quickly and at the exact same time Celia said: “That is a joke!” Alistair had kept the photo of Celia laughing at the gallows as his phone background and made a point of ensuring she saw it. Often. She had retaliated by snapping a photo of him mid-yawn one day and making it hers.

Leliana regarded them impassively. “And now you talk in sync apparently.”

“We don’t –” they both said then stopped abruptly and looked at each other in alarm.

“Fuck,” Alistair added as an afterthought, fairly confident Celia wouldn’t do the same. Leliana gave them a quick, smug look and left.

Beside him, Celia let out a groan. “Maker it’s so embarrassing,” she said and began hastily gathering nearby plates and glasses into the sink, turning on the hot tap.

“That reaction is verging on offensive,” Alistair said over the gushing water, watching her back. She picked through the dishes, haphazardly casting aside napkins, toothpicks, pistachio shells and bottle caps onto the bench beside her. He grabbed a stray plastic bag to collect them in. She scrubbed frantically with the sponge at a bowl smeared with hummus and didn’t look up as he stood next to her. “Is it really so embarrassing? I mean, it’s a total misconception but you don’t need to act like you want to climb in there and scrub yourself clean at the thought.” She stilled and tilted her head towards him, still without meeting his eye. He had drunk those beers quite quickly, he realised belatedly and with a complete absence of panic. “Some might actually consider me quite a catch,” he said with bravado then immediately undermined himself with: “I can walk upright and speak in grunts anyway.”

“Alistair,” she said softly, in a way that was somehow ten times more humiliating than if she had become angry, or even laughed in his face. “It’s not you. I’m just worried that your friends might think I’m leading you on.”

“You leading _me_ on?” he scoffed. “I asked you to come tonight, remember?”

She dropped her gaze back down towards the pile of dishes. “Yes. Perhaps I shouldn’t have. I don’t want to give anyone the wrong idea.”

Did she mean give _him_ the wrong idea? Alistair felt his jaw clench. “Actually, it was Cullen,” he said before he could really think about it and she stopped rinsing a glass and turned her head to look at him without comprehension.

“Who is Cullen?” she asked, sounding exasperated.

“Cullen was…It was Leliana insisting I ask you to come. Because she felt sorry for you being alone at Midwinter. Totally her idea. I had no intention of asking you to come tonight but…Leliana.” He shrugged, roughly balling up the plastic bag of rubbish and, finding no bin, tossed it into the corner of the room.

Celia’s mouth opened slightly as if she was saying ‘oh’ but there was no sound. Alistair felt a surge of victory for having got the upper hand. It flashed in his chest then faded just as quickly. “You didn’t…? Okay, that makes sense. So we’re on the same page then.”

“Sure.” He had definitely won that. Or he was pretty certain he had. So why did it feel like he had lost? Celia went on looking at him and then she let out a yelp. The sink was overflowing and water was pouring down the front of the cupboard and onto her shoes. He reached for the tap as she did, their hands colliding above it.

“Let me do it,” she snapped and he stepped back in surrender. She twisted the tap off so tightly Alistair wondered if Leliana would ever be able to use it again. “Go and find your friends. I’m fine so you don’t need to hang around and babysit me. In fact, I’d rather you backed off a bit.”

“Message received,” he said. Loud and clear.

He returned to his group, joked about football practice, made plans to go to the pub, asked questions about a new video game he wanted to buy and never once looked at the door to see when she came back into the room. He’d been looking forward to tonight for ages. It was meant to be a fun. He was supposed to be having a good time. He forced himself not to think about the odd exchange with Celia in the kitchen, mostly successfully, though that did nothing to alleviate the slightly sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. If anyone mentioned his work, he brushed it off and changed the subject.

The music got louder and louder until they all had to yell to be heard. A few of the guys went into the back garden to smoke and Alistair went with them, just get away from the noise. They leaned against a wall, Alistair shaking his head when the packet was offered and staring up at the night sky. It was cloudless, the stars clear and bright. His friends went back inside but he stayed there in the freezing night air, watching his breath puff in front of him, hands in his pockets. Others came out to smoke, or like him to briefly escape the heat and din of the party, and he chatted to them until they stubbed their cigarettes into the ashtray or a pot plant and left.

The glass door opened and from the corner of his eye, Alistair saw a woman approach him with purpose. Without turning his head towards the figure in the dark, he realised he was hoping it was Celia. But it was Leliana. “What are you doing hiding out here?” she said, her voice more concerned than accusing. He knew she had been drinking but as usual she sounded completely sober.

“I’m not hiding. Just enjoying the spectacular night sky,” he explained, starring up at it pointedly.

Leliana followed his gaze. “You’re right. It is spectacular,” she said with an appreciative sigh and hugged her arms around herself. “You’re having fun then?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not cold out here?”

“Nope.”

“Did you have a mince pie?”

“About twelve.”

“Good. Did you know Celia is leaving?”

“What?” he said, twisting his head to look at her so quickly his neck cricked.

“Just now. She came to say goodbye and to thank me, very graciously I might add. She’s lovely Alistair.”

“Yeah, she - I had better…Thanks for the…And the…” he told her hastily and raced back through the house, weaving between groups, apologising over the now steadily pulsing music as he roughly shouldered past people who were too drunk to respond to more polite requests to move.

“Alistair!” one of his friends called, shaking a solo cup at him. “We’re going to-”

“Can’t,” he told the group. “Got to go.” Someone chucked a ping-pong ball at the back of his head as he hurried out of the room which he ignored. Squeezing past a couple who were making out in the hall, he grabbed his jacket off a hook and loudly burst out onto the porch. Celia, half way down the garden path, turned in surprise and stopped when she saw him. “Hey,” he said casually, trying not to pant. “You’re leaving too? I was thinking of heading out. Can we walk together?”

For a horrible moment he thought she was going to tell him no. “Sure. Good timing.” She waited as he put his jacket on and caught up. He opened the gate for her and they made their way out onto the footpath. The street was still and silent except for a cat that streaked across the road and disappeared behind a parked car.

They began to walk. After the mad rush to catch up to her, Alistair suddenly didn’t know what to say so was glad when Celia spoke, her tone light, as if nothing had happened between them. Maybe it hadn’t? Maybe he had misread the situation and it was…nothing. “Things were starting to heat up a bit in there. I gave up on the dishes. Seemed like the least of the messes. Do Leliana’s parties always get like that?”

He matched her casual tone. “Sometimes. A neighbour will call the cops soon and that’ll be the end of it.”

Celia snickered. “Someone offered me a line. First time since I graduated. Made me feel young again.”

Alistair let out a loud sigh. “It’s these new friends Leliana is meeting through work. All the up and coming politicians. I don’t know if she even likes them, or if she is just gathering material to bribe them with down the track.” As an afterthought he asked: “Did you take it?”

“No,” she said with a laugh. “Though please tell me there wasn’t anything suspect in the mince pies because I ate three.”

“If there was I think I may need to be hospitalised because I had a whole plate,” he said with exaggerated worry. “By the way, is it just me or can you see that tree melting?” That made her cackle, and she had to stop walking to compose herself. Alistair felt his mood buoyed just from making her laugh. “I feel fine so I _think_ they were clean. What is one melting tree anyway? And a talking post box.”

“Thank you for that assurance. How many fingers am I holding up?” she asked, showing him her hands.

“Fish fingers? None. Can’t fool me!”

“Oh dear,” Celia said, looking like she was struggling not to smile. She pulled her glove off and reached up, pressing the back of her hand against his forehead then cheek as if checking his temperature. “Hmm, but you do seem alright.”

Her fingers were pleasantly warm against his wind chilled skin. Now that they had stopped walking, Alistair wondered if they should call a taxi and in the moment he took to ponder this, Celia pulled her hand back self-consciously. “Are you okay taking the underground? You’re not too tired?” he asked her quickly.

“I’m enjoying the fresh air,” she said and they began to walk again in the direction of the train station. “Alistair?”

“Yes?”

“Back there in the kitchen, did we um – was that an argument?”

“I’m not sure. But I hated it, whatever it was.”

“It was awful,” she agreed heartily.

“I like being with you,” he told her, simultaneously hoping that she would and wouldn’t take that as he intended it.

“Me too,” she said.

There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. Maybe he should tell her that he _had_ wanted her to come to the party, that he was glad she had accepted his invitation. Really glad truth be told. But he had a funny feeling that she already knew. They looked briefly at each other and while it was too dark between the streetlights to see her expression Alistair knew she was smiling. Still, he wondered if he should apologise: something made him feel like he should but he didn’t know what for exactly, or how to put it into words. But Celia wasn’t asking for one and there was such a peacefulness between them now as they walked through the sleepy, suburban streets that it seemed wrong to break the silence.

In the empty train carriage, they sat close, their legs touching and both of them shivering. Now that they’d stopped moving the cold seemed to have caught up with them. The train hurtled through tunnels and past industrial yards with barbed wire fences half buried in weeds. Celia yawned over and over again, slumping forward in her seat. Worried she was actually going to topple onto the floor he put his arm around her. This seemed to rouse her slightly and she briefly straightened, but instead of protesting, she leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder, settling there wordlessly and closing her eyes. He was surprised for all of a moment before the weight and warmth of her felt like the most natural thing in the world.

As the train rattled onwards, Alistair caught their reflection in the opposite window and somehow, huddled together as they were, tired and slightly drunk as he was, it was like he was looking at strangers. He heard and felt her sleepy sigh, smelt the fruity scent of her shampoo as she shifted and wondered if he would be able to muster the willpower to wake her up at their stop, or if they would end up riding the train to the end of the line.

* * *

Once a week, instead of going straight home from the library, Alistair would call into the office. Not only was it essential for administration purposes, an opportunity to submit his reports and log his timesheet, he liked to catch up with whichever of his colleagues happened to be there, and all the better if it was Duncan. Today he was in luck, peering into his manager’s office as he walked past then doubling back when he registered that Duncan was seated behind his computer. “Hey!” he said in greeting, intending to walk on. Duncan’s brow was creased in concentration and he did not wish to disturb him. Unexpectedly however, Duncan beckoned him in.

“Alistair. I’ve been wanting to speak to you.”

“Uh oh. What is it this time? I can’t be blamed for the state of the microwave again: I haven’t even been here.”

Duncan’s gaze was level. “I wanted to ask if there has been cause for concern in your current job? Further protest or dissent? By a group or an individual?” Sensing a proper conversation was about to be had, Alistair seated himself in the chair on the other side of Duncan’s desk.

“Nope. Nothing. You’ve been reading my reports I assume. Actually, I have the latest here.” He slid it across the desk and Duncan flicked through the briefly summarised days with a frown.

“You haven’t seen anyone acting suspiciously? A car driving past too often or someone requesting access to the library without good cause?”

“There was that family friend of the Cousland’s who wandered out the back but nothing since. Do you think I’m missing something?”

“Missing what?” Duncan asked.

“I don’t know. It seems like you don’t believe me that nothing has happened. Has Celia…” Alistair wasn’t sure how to finish that question. Complained?

“I do believe you. I’m confirming your reports. Standard procedure.”

Alistair was pretty confident this wasn’t standard procedure. “Are they too boring? Is that the problem? Because I could start spicing them up a little. You know, maybe the book spontaneously combusted and I had to put it out with a cup of tea. Or someone did steal it but I replaced it with a Country Living magazine and I don’t think Tevinter will notice.”

Even Duncan at his most professional couldn’t resist a small chuckle at that. “I just want to encourage you to not dismiss anything that seems suspicious, no matter how small.”

Alistair’s brow furrowed. “What’s this about? It’s like you’re expecting something to happen. Waiting for it even.”

Duncan’s lips tightened and Alistair could tell he had hit close to the mark. “We’ve been continuing to monitor a few forums for conversations about Celia’s work.”

“People are still taking issue with her?” Alistair asked, genuinely surprised.

“It is a vocal minority, but still troubling.”

“What are they saying?” Duncan didn’t hesitate, twisting his monitor so Alistair could see. Alistair scooted his chair closer, reached for the mouse as Duncan handed it to him and began to scroll. Almost immediately it was as if the air had been sucked from the room. “Andraste preserve…I didn’t expect them to be this…graphic.” His voice sounded high pitched even to his own ears. Alistair wasn’t sure he could stand reading any more but he also didn’t feel like he could stop. He started to focus on the usernames. “There’s not that many of them. They’re just going in circles, trying to outdo each other.”

“About fifteen or so regulars, then the occasional fly in. They feed off their own contributions as you see.”

“Who are they? Any idea? Do the police know? Can’t these be counted as threats?”

“It’s a grey area.”

“These people…they must be invested in all this somehow. Personally, I mean.” Alistair was desperate to sound calm, rational. He put the mouse back in Duncan’s reach to signal he’d had enough and noticed his own hand shake slightly as he did.

“People who still object to the book being in Fereldan. Or possibly other researchers who missed out on the grant money Celia received. It may have prompted resentment or general professional jealously."

"Really? You think some wizened old scholar with a pipe and tweed suit is doing this sort of thing online?"

"It is likely that some of them are aquatinted with her, personally as you suggest. Perhaps as colleagues. With so much information publicly available on her social media it's difficult to be sure.”

“If people are skulking around her profiles looking for info, they might be contacting her there too. I should ask.”

“You don’t think she would have already said anything if there had been comments like this sent to her directly? I assumed she was ignorant of it.”

“I hope so, but I’m not sure. Worth checking.”

“Good idea.” Assuming the conversation was over and desperate to get some fresh air, Alistair rose. He was pretty keen to message Celia too, just to make sure she got home safely. He knew it was irrational to want to check up, and that the internet commenters were only brave from behind a keyboard, but it was hard to read about anyone wishing harm upon her and not feel worried. Maybe if she was still commuting he could even call and stay on the phone until she was inside. Obviously he couldn’t follow her around for the rest of her life but just this once, while it was all sickeningly fresh in his mind, he would indulge his paranoia. But Duncan wasn’t finished. “There’s another matter. Shut the door please.”

Alistair obliged, but remained standing. “This sounds serious.”

“I’ve been debating whether I should tell you this, but have decided it’s right for you to know. And perhaps you always should have. It’s been unfair, keeping you in the dark.”

“Duncan, you know I trust you,” Alistair tried to reassure him. But this only served to make Duncan grimace.

“I made a judgement call. I thought it was for the best but in doing so I have allowed you to be misled.”

“Simple enough to accomplish: I’m pretty easily confused,” Alistair said with a chuckle. Duncan was not amused.

“Warden Watch was hired by Tevinter to protect its property. A book of some cultural and historical significance.”

“That all sounds vaguely familiar,” Alistair joked, knowing there was more. It wasn't like Duncan to beat around the bush.

“But we have also been hired by Bryce and Eleanor Cousland to protect their daughter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contemplating adding 'idiots in love' to the tags, though it is early days here yet in ye olde land of the slow burn. These two dopes...Ugh. Also, can anyone spot the dialogue I lifted from the game? :)  
> Thanks so much for reading!


	6. Distance

Alistair’s mind was reeling. “Bryce and Eleanor Cousland…Celia’s _parents_? You didn’t think to tell me this? Did it not seem even remotely relevant?” he asked with mounting incredulity.

“It was an unconventional request, though not the first of its kind. They wanted her watched in a manner that did not interfere with her work, and under the strict proviso that she not know about any additional security.”

Alistair let out a long breath through his nostrils and folded his arms. “And did they also specify that you not tell Alistair? Because you didn’t by the way. Must have slipped your mind.”

“I thought it was the best way to meet their conditions without alarming you.”

Alistair jabbed peevishly towards Duncan’s monitor. “Judging by those comments, some alarm may be necessary.”

Duncan inclined his head in calm agreement. “Hence my discussing it with you now. Initially the arrangement was a precaution: we hoped it wouldn’t be needed and Celia’s parents were willing to pay for their peace of mind. A regular security presence can act as a deterrent, pre-empt potential problems before they gain any momentum. I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this.”

“It was risky not to tell me about this. With all those comments building up? These things don’t always come on gradually. And something could happen any time, with that level of vitriol, not just when she’s working with the book,” Alistair pointed out.

“You’re right. We kept you situated nearby.”

“She spends a lot of time at the library, sure, but not literally twenty-four sev- Wait. What?” he asked, his brain finally catching up with Duncan’s comment.

“Celia’s parents arranged accommodation on her behalf before she arrived in Denerim. I recommended the vacant apartment beside yours,” Duncan said, as nonchalantly as if he was telling Alistair that rain was forecast later in the week.

“You knew we were neighbours? You _made_ us neighbours?” Alistair’s mind did more flips in a row than an Olympic gymnast as he attempted to process this.

Duncan very slightly raised an eyebrow. “I did. And I noticed that you didn’t rush to advise me this was the case once you were assigned the job.”

“I uh…” Alistair said, unfolding his arms and shoving his hands into his pockets instead. He had him there.

“The living arrangements reassured Celia’s parents without having to resort to more intrusive security measures. Anyone following Celia would see you were in the same building and think twice. And you would act as an emergency contact if the need arose: someone in closer proximity than her friends and family.”

“Yeah. Pretty close proximity alright,” Alistair said drily. “Maker Duncan, I don’t know how to feel about this. How was I supposed to act as security if I didn’t _know_ I was meant to be acting as security? She could have been getting murdered, screaming away, and I might have just pulled a pillow over my head and rolled over because it wasn’t time for my shift.”

Duncan steepled his fingers under his chin and raised an eyebrow. “Alistair: you would always help. It’s why I chose you for this job in the first place. Plus, as I understand…” he trailed off and leafed through a manilla folder on his desk, briefly skimming a page. “Prior to being introduced by me, you had already retrieved a pet for her? A cat? Named Muffin?”

“Mittens,” Alistair muttered. “How did you even know about that?”

“She reported it to her parents, and they in turn reported it to me. You made a good impression on them.”

Alistair was dumbstruck and felt strangely violated to know that his meeting with Celia – what he had thought was a chance meeting with Celia, even _fate_ – was actually on file at his workplace. “I’m pleased to have provided such customer service without even realising it. As long as they kept paying you, I guess that’s all that matters,” he snapped.

“I always intended for you to be financially renumerated at the conclusion of this.”

Alistair groaned in frustration. “That’s not the point. Duncan…You could have told me!” Alistair was fighting very hard against the tantrum he wanted to throw but could feel he was slipping.

Duncan seemed unaffected by the outburst and held his palms out in an open gesture. “I regret the deceit involved. With the benefit of hindsight, I would have handled it differently. I’m sorry.”

And with that frank apology, Alistair’s anger deflated and words like ‘unethical’ and ‘exploitation’ fizzled unsaid. He owed Duncan so much, and even now he wasn’t entirely sure what he was angry about. “It’s fine, I guess. I’m just…It’s confusing. If you’re telling me, are you going to tell Celia too?”

“No.”

“No as in ‘not right now’? Or no as in ‘never’?”

“It depends on how the situation develops, but there is no need for her to know currently.”

“Apart from the fact that this is all pretty creepy?” Would she think he had been in on it from the start? Would she be angry at him?

“It’s for her own good.”

“We don’t get to decide that. She’s not a child. She has a right to know what’s going on, regardless of the intentions of her parents.”

“You can’t tell her, Alistair. Not without her parent’s approval,” Duncan told him firmly.

“I don’t feel comfortable keeping this a secret.”

“Tell her and you’re off the job,” Duncan said bluntly.

“Really? You’d punish me like that?”

“It wouldn’t be up to me: we would lose the contract. Her parents are our clients and if we fail to meet their expectations, they will take their business elsewhere. The reputation of Warden Watch too, would be in tatters. The opinion of the Cousland’s has a lot of sway, even in Denerim.”

He still wanted to tell Celia: she deserved to know what was going on. But Duncan had earned his loyalty and this job with Warden Watch had given him a fresh start after the misery that had been his education. Alistair chewed on this information for a moment then let out a groan of frustration. “Now I wish you hadn’t told me.”

Duncan laughed. “A moment ago you berated me for not doing so sooner.”

Alistair waved a hand. “You need to stop living in the past Duncan. That was then, this is now. Needless to say, I understand your dilemma a little better.”

“I wouldn’t have put you in such a complex role if I didn’t think you were capable of handling whatever it may entail.” Alistair nodded, though he wasn’t sure he agreed with the sentiment. “Stay close to her. No one is asking you to follow her to buy milk or bug her flat but stay in the vicinity and try to keep open lines of communication so that you might hear of anything concerning. Are you on reasonable terms? Does she talk to you?”

“We um-” Alistair stuttered and looked at his shoes. “We get along okay I suppose.”

* * *

“Alistair?”

Alistair was shaken from his reverie, staring out the window at a cloud that looked a bit like a ship as it made lazy passage across the sky and began to dissolve. “Yep?” he said, forcing a smile for Celia’s benefit.

“You’ve been very quiet today. Everything alright?”

“You’re working. I don’t want to bother you,” he lied.

“You were quiet on the way in too. You’re not feeling off, are you? A headache or…?”

“I’m fine, really.” Just grappling with the enormity of the secret he was keeping from her and feeling like an absolute bastard for doing so even though it wasn’t a situation of his own making. “Fine,” he said again.

Unconvinced, she continued to frown at him. “We could finish up early. If you were ever feeling unwell. Now or in the future, just for the record. It wouldn’t be a bother.”

“Thanks,” he told her. “Actually. Hypothetically…No, not hypothetically. I was thinking about some friends of mine and a situation they are in. And what I should do. If anything.”

Celia’s frown deepened. “And this non-hypothetical situation with your friends is troubling you?”

“Yes. What would you…One friend is very proud, and doesn’t like to be helped. So another friend arranged for another friend to help the friend without that friend or the friend that needed helping knowing. But now the friend that is helping does know and…this isn’t making any sense, is it?”

“Not a bit. It might help if the friends have names?”

He scuffed a foot on the worn carpet and turned with a half-hearted shrug. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out.”

He slouched away for a few paces before she called out “Hey,” to get his attention and a little ball of scrunched up paper skidded along the carpet and hit his feet.

“What?” he asked. She just pointed at the paper she had thrown and turned back to her work without speaking.

Perplexed, he picked it up and unravelled the note: _“You’re a good person. You’ll do the right thing.”_ She had written then scribbled a very quick doodle of a sunflower with a smiley face. He grinned sheepishly at her but she was pretending to ignore him, a faint smile on her face.

He looked back down at the paper. Obviously it would be kind of a jerk move to take this note as tacit approval of a situation she knew nothing about and a sign that he shouldn’t tell her about the online comments or her parent’s concern for her…but he was going to anyway. It was all he had to work with. Alistair carefully folded the note and slipped it into his pocket.

His phone rang, surprising them both as Celia craned to see what the noise was. He had thought he had turned it onto silent mode but there was Rick Astley, blasting across the otherwise silent library. “That’s not my ringtone…Clearly it is. It was a joke. One of the guys at footy the other night…Uh, sorry about the noise,” he said, giving up on the explanation as he struggled to retrieve it from his pocket.

“Its fine. You should get it,” Celia said, clearly fighting back a laugh and quickly covering her mouth with her hand. Deciding to just embrace the shame of it all, he finally got a hold of his phone and made a show of dancing a little before answering. He heard Celia let out a snort of laughter and was beaming as he answered. “Hey! Teagan?” he said in surprise, his amusement in the moment rapidly fading at the other man’s serious tone. Hurrying into the next room to get out of earshot he asked: “What is it?”

If someone had offered Alistair a million gold pieces to repeat even ten percent of the phone conversation he had just had with Teagan, he wouldn’t have been able to tell them anything other than the words: ‘Eamon’, ‘very ill’, ‘collapsed’ and ‘hurry’.

Still in a state of shock he dialled Duncan’s work phone. When he didn’t answer, Alistair called his personal mobile twice. Duncan picked up on the second attempt. “Alistair. What’s wrong?”

“I need cover organised. It’s a personal emergency. Eamon is…”

“What happened?” Duncan asked quickly. He had known Eamon for a long time.

“He’s alive. Just not…” Alistair’s voice broke and he didn’t trust himself to continue.

“You can go Alistair. I’ll arrange everything.”

“Celia. Um, will she be safe?” he asked, lowering his voice and wishing he was capable of forming a more articulate sentence.

“Your shifts will be covered and I’ll get whoever is on to escort her home. They can say they live in the same direction. A few of the people on night jobs can drive past the building occasionally too, just to keep an eye on things.”

Alistair let out a breath. “Okay.”

“I’m the middle of something here, but take as long as you need with Eamon and keep me updated.”

“Thanks Duncan,” he said before the other man hung up.

Despite making a concerted effort to compose himself before returning, Celia looked worried the moment she saw him walk back in the room. “Are you okay?” she asked, twirling a pen until she dropped it on the floor. She ignored it and began anxiously twisting a lock of hair around her finger instead. “Alistair?” she said again.

Instantly giving up any pretence of indifference he had planned, Alistair took a shaky breath. “No. Not really. My Uncle, who raised me…he’s really unwell.”

Celia jumped up from her seat. “Oh Alistair, I’m so sorry.”

“I have to go and see him.”

“Of course you do.” She began to pack up her things, sweeping them into her bag with careless haste.

“You can finish what you’re doing today and I’ll make sure there is cover for tomorrow.”

“No Alistair. You don’t have to hang around. You should go right away.”

“I don’t want to cut your day short.”

Celia continued shoving things into her bag. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll see you home and I can work from there. You need to pack and get some rest. Will you catch the train?”

Alistair rubbed his face. He wouldn’t be able to get a train ticket until tomorrow. “I’ll see if I can borrow Wynne’s car.”

* * *

The drive to Redcliffe passed in a rapid blur of indistinct bitumen and pastures. Alistair felt his mind wandering as he drove and had to keep checking the signs to figure out where he actually was. He felt dazed and unfocused, and knowing it was dangerous, threw back as much caffeine as he could tolerate without being sick at each rest stop.

Finally at Eamon’s wrought iron gates, Alistair rolled down the window to buzz the intercom. Although no one spoke in answer, the action must have given the on-duty security guard a good enough look at Alistair to recognise him as the gates swung open immediately. He drove quickly up the driveway, probably too quickly, and parked haphazardly in front of the grand double staircase that lead to the front entrance.

After racing up the steps two at a time, Isolde opened the door before Alistair could knock. For an astonishing moment, he genuinely thought she was there to greet him.

“Alistair,” she said with surprise and a complete absence of welcome, dispelling this notion almost instantly. “What are you doing here?”

“Teagan called. He said…is Eamon…I heard he was unwell.”

Isolde scrunched her nose then sighed. “Teagan might have consulted with me before inviting guests to _my_ home.”

“I’m sorry,” was all Alistair managed. After worrying and driving for hours he couldn’t even manage a snarky response. He just wanted to see his Uncle, and to know he was okay. Alistair bit the inside of his cheek: Maker help him, if he cried in front of this woman he would never forgive himself.

“We’ll manage,” she said in a laboured way. “Your room is made up, as always. I was hoping to knock down the wall and expand it into a new home gym but Eamon insisted we leave it be.” Isolde shot him a glare that made it obvious she held Alistair solely responsible for this decision. “I don’t see the point given you’re never here.”

“I wonder why,” Alistair said drily. Isolde arched a thin, perfectly manicured eyebrow and Alistair back peddled rapidly, quickly moderating his tone. “Please, I’m sorry to turn up like this but I just want to see my Uncle.” He wasn’t above grovelling, not when there was so much at stake.

“Not right now. He’s resting.”

“If I could quickly –”

“No. Not today,” she said, then tapped impatiently at her smart watch a few times.

Alistair took a deep breath. “I’ve driven a long way,” he explained and she looked back at him, her glare easing a little. “And I think he would want to see me.” Isolde’s expression hardened again and Alistair knew he had lost her.

“No one asked you to come. His doctor advised rest without disruption for the rest of the day.”

“I’m sure a brief ‘hello’ wouldn’t hurt,” Alistair argued, knowing it was a lost cause.

“Perhaps you don’t understand? I spent an hour on the phone convincing this specialist to come out of retirement and fly from Orlais to see Eamon. He is being paid twice what you would earn in a year for this week alone so forgive me if I follow the doctor’s instructions over your…impulses.”

“Fine,” Alistair said, after letting out a measured breath through his nostrils. “I can wait.”

“Your car is in my way,” she said, taking a pair of sunglasses out of her bag and putting them on in one fluid movement.

“What?”

“The ancient Volvo? I’m going shopping and I need you to move your car. If it still starts that is.” When he gaped at her for a moment she added briskly: “Can you hurry up?”

* * *

Waiting one day to see his Uncle turned into a couple of days, and then into the rest of the week. Alistair had no bargaining power in this matter, and while Isolde must have hated having Alistair in the house, she also seemed to be enjoying playing gatekeeper with visiting rights to Eamon. She had always taken Alistair’s existence as a personal slight, for reasons he only partially understood. Isolde found Eamon’s fondness for him as a child particularly grating and this opportunity to wield her power and keep them apart was apparently too difficult to resist. “Impossible. Doctor’s orders,” she would say, with an exaggerated expression of horror each time Alistair asked for access as if he was hurting Eamon by just asking. Never mind that she could probably pay the doctor to say whatever she wanted.

If Eamon knew Alistair was there, he had not requested to see him.

Alistair spent the empty days exploring his old childhood haunts: the hiding spots that had once felt like sanctuaries but now made him feel achingly lonely. Had he really spent hours perched here on the window sill, tucked behind the closed curtains when Eamon had guests and he was asked to keep out of the way? Or here in the gardener’s shed? Once it had felt as safe and secure as a fortress, but now Alistair could only hug his arms around himself and wonder how he had ignored the creeping damp. In the grounds he had once spent an entire day hiding up a fig tree, watching as moving van after moving van brought Isolde’s considerable possessions into his Uncle’s house after the wedding, sensing without being told that everything was about to change. He had been considering the logistics of living up there forever, wondering how long her could survive on diet of just figs. In the end he had climbed down and plodded back to the house well after nightfall, only to find that no one had noticed he was missing.

Alistair had done nothing more taxing than amble about the estate all week but felt exhausted all the same. Leliana had called to check on him. “It’s making me realise I really was better off going to school than staying here,” Alistair had told her.

Leliana hummed on the other end of the phone. “It must be bad then,” she said sympathetically, having borne witness to Alistair’s absolute lowest ebbs at Hessarian’s Sacred Sword.

It transpired that there was to be a dinner party that Friday night which Alistair greeted with as much enthusiasm as he would a lobotomy. “I could just have a plate in the kitchen and keep a low profile,” Alistair had told Isolde, assuming this would be the happiest solution for both of them.

“No. You should be there. Eamon would…expect it,” she said, after chewing her lip for a moment. Whether she saw it as another opportunity to torture him, or whether it was a peace offering, Alistair had no clue, but it seemed rude to refuse either way.

Teagan was coming and Alistair had never been more relieved to see a friendly face. He had still been considering faking a headache and staying in his room before he had learned he would be there. They managed to catch up in a quiet corner of the drawing room before the meal was called.

“Isolde didn’t know I was coming,” Alistair began accusingly and Teagan sighed. The dinner hadn’t even properly started yet and Alistair already felt edgy. “She welcomed me with open arms. Was wonderful to see her again, once her tears of joy finally stopped. Couldn’t have hoped for a nicer homecoming. _Lovely_ woman,” he said, his voice all sugary sarcasm.

Teagan’s expression became very strained and his lips tightened as he clearly worked hard to fight back a smile. “Would you have waited for a formal invitation from her? Because it would have been a long wait.”

“Yeah, I realise.”

“I had intended to give her a warning but I honestly didn’t expect you to get here the same day I called. I thought you’d be on the train the next morning.”

“Borrowed a car.”

“And must have hit the ground running the second our call ended.”

“Almost. I was…am worried.”

“Eamon would be touched. I’m glad you’re here.” Teagan gave Alistair a reassuring clap on the shoulder, keeping his hand there a moment. “He has given us a fright but things don’t look as bad now. He isn’t out of the woods by any means, but he’s never been one to go down without a fight.”

Alistair felt the knot in his stomach loosen slightly. “This is the first update I’ve had. _She_ wouldn’t tell me anything, or let me see him. Every time I try to broach the subject she suddenly has to rush off to do urgent shopping or attend a pilates class,” Alistair said, gesturing subtly at Isolde with a tiny jerk of his head. She was on the other side of the room, her long velvet skirt swaying as she swept about to check on her guests. Her hair was coiffed artfully for the occasion and her expression was all warmth and generosity.

Teagan looked conflicted. “I know Isolde can seem shallow, but she does love him. And though she may not seem it, she has been frantic with worry.”

Alistair looked pointedly around the opulent room at the fine porcelain vases, crammed with fresh flowers, and the servants slowly circling the chattering guests with trays of what Tegan had referred to as ‘vol-au-vents’. And there, in the middle of it all: Isolde. Thriving. “Frantic with worry? Yeah: it shows.”

“The shopping, the dinner parties…it seems frivolous to us but she is trying to distract herself, and to keep things normal for their son.”

“Because he looks like he’s having the time of his life clearly.” If there was anyone in the room who might have wanted to be there less than Alistair, it was Connor who was in the corner sitting on the arm of a sofa, his face illuminated blue by the close held screen of his phone.

“He’s sensitive, and not as resilient as you have always been,” Teagan explained. Alistair clenched his jaw but remained silent. “Isolde has been shielding him from the full extent of Eamon’s illness. Part of that is keeping engagements like this. She _is_ finding this difficult, Alistair.”

“Riiight. I’m overwhelmed with compassion, my heart bleeds. Is that what you want?”

“No. That would be too much to expect of anyone,” Teagan said as a bell sounded. The tittering group of overly perfumed guests began to filter into the dining room, making it noticeably easier to breath, if only for a moment. Tegan continued, his voice slightly louder now that they had the room to themselves: “She has undoubtedly been unkind. But you are a better person than she is.”

Alistair rolled his eyes. “Don’t ask me to take the moral high ground.”

“I’m not asking, but you will anyway. For Eamon’s sake,” Teagan said with an infuriatingly knowing look. Alistair simply put his untouched drink down on a marble-topped side table and rose.

He had never actually been in the formal dining room while it was being used for its intended purpose, and he was briefly taken back by the splendour of it all. The table was decorated with boughs of evergreen and bright sprigs of berries, which were artfully woven around the base of an excessive number of tall candles that stretched towards the high ceiling.

Alistair was seated surprisingly close to the head of the table where Isolde had claimed Eamon’s usual chair. He guessed she wanted to keep an eye on him. She needn’t have worried: Alistair’s strategy for the night was to drink nothing alcoholic, stay as quiet as possible and watch his neighbours to figure out what fork to use. He only wished he had been sat nearer Teagan.

The crockery was edged with gold and looked so fine that Alistair was afraid to touch anything. His hand seemed altogether too big and too clumsy: he felt he might shatter his waterglass just by attempting to pick it up. But he made it through the entrée and soup courses without any dishes breaking or anyone even seeming to notice he even existed which suited him fine. Just as the mains had arrived however, a complete stranger said his name, taking Alistair by surprise and forcing him to look up gormlessly just as he had taken a too large mouthful of venison.

“I understand you went to Hessarian’s,” the man opposite Alistair said. “I did too. Cracking good school, wouldn’t send my grasshoppers anywhere else. They’re keen as anything to get started. My eldest is hoping to get on the lacrosse team. Did you play?”

The food in Alistair’s mouth seemed to turn bitter as he struggled to chew. He forced himself to swallow mechanically. “No,” he said simply, his mouth dry.

“What about old Mr McIntosh eh? Mack the Knife we called him, sharp as anything. How is he travelling these days?”

“I never had him.”

“Never did Geography? Not my favourite either,” the man continued good naturedly as Alistair wished the ceiling would cave in and bury him.

“He didn’t complete his schooling,” Isolde interrupted. “He dropped out. Isn’t that right Alistair?” Her diamond earrings glittered coldly as she tilted her head to look at him as if challenging him to deny it.

“Now that is a damned shame,” the man said after a beat of silence, looking flabbergasted and reaching for his napkin.

“A bit of a shame and a fairly considerable waste of our money in the end,” Isolde added, cutting her carrots into dainty little pieces without eating them.

"I got a job," Alistair clarified, his voice coming out a lot quieter than he meant it to.

"If you could even call it a job," Isolde muttered, then hid her smirk behind her wine glass.

Alistair felt himself watched down the length of the table as he reached for his glass and took a steadying drink of unpleasantly warm water. Isolde hadn’t invited him to attend tonight as a gesture of kindness: she had wanted to make an example of him. Perhaps she had spent years complaining about him to these friends and now she couldn’t resist the opportunity to parade him in front of them, emphasise how much she had suffered as a result of his uncouth presence in her otherwise perfect life and perfect family. Alistair already knew he was underdressed: he hadn’t exactly packed expecting this kind of event, but he also hadn’t felt it so keenly until now. Conscious of a growing number of the other guests watching him with undisguised interest, he fought the urge to try and smooth his hair.

“It was awfully good of Eamon to give you the chance to go Alistair. Should have seen it through lad,” the man said, not unkindly.

Isolde answered for him. “What can you do?” she said with a long-suffering sigh. “Some are born for the opportunities Hessarian’s offers and some are born to be…labourers.”

“Part of the function of good schools like Hessarian’s is to separate the wheat from the chaff,” the women sitting right next to Alistair added brusquely as if he wasn’t even there.

“That’s true Prudence. I don’t blame Hessarian’s at all. They tried everything. Truly, they threw every resource they had at him. But if Hessarian’s can’t make a person into something worthwhile, then they were never meant to _be_ anything worthwhile. Sometimes it’s that simple.”

“I’m surprised Connor hasn’t been shipped of yet in that case, if the school is so bloody good,” Alistair snapped, his resolve breaking. Connor looked up from the other end of the table and Alistair immediately felt guilty for dragging him into this. It was unfair on him, and generally a very unwise move on Alistair’s part. Now after days of being on his best behaviour and walking on eggshells he had fucked up and he knew it. Isolde’s look of complete self-satisfaction as she made pointed eye contact with several people at the table confirmed this. _“See?”_ she seemed to be saying.

“Connor’s special intelligence requires nurturing beyond the capabilities of even Hessarain’s,” Isolde said primly. “Your problem was that the school could find nothing worth nurturing.”

The man who had started the conversation laughed awkwardly. “We all have our strengths I’m sure.”

“No, she’s right,” Alistair said, looking directly at Isolde. “I really am just a complete waste of space and a pointless idiot.” 

“So ungrateful,” the woman beside him muttered under her breath and Isolde looked radiant in her own smugness.

“Cynthia!” Isolde called down the table, her voice cloyingly sweet as she pointedly changed the subject. “You must give me an update on the renovations to your kitchen. Did you have any luck sourcing the Antivan tiles?”

Alistair felt a humiliated, frustrated heat rising up his face as a few of the guests gawped in his direction like he was a zoo exhibit. Teagan was trying to catch his eye but he ignored it, staring down at the tablecloth and wishing he could shrivel up and disappear.

* * *

After pushing his dinner around with his fork unenthusiastically until the plates were cleared, Alistair had excused himself from the party before dessert and trudged his way to his room.

His old childhood bedroom was far from the main family rooms of the house. Originally it had been a storage room but had been converted for him, and he wasn’t far from the servant’s quarters if he ever needed anything.

Once he got past the still bustling kitchen where staff were in a frenzy, caramelising the tops of crème brûlées and arranging them on trays, the passages became cool and quiet. Alistair didn’t bother turning on any lights: he still knew his way in the dark.

After a shower, he crawled into bed, not even waiting for his hair to dry he felt so defeated. But despite feeling exhausted, it wasn’t late and he couldn’t sleep, his mind replaying the dinner party conversation on repeat.

At the party, all he had wanted was to be alone, but now that he was, he realised that wasn’t true. He didn’t want to be alone: he just didn’t want to be around _those_ people.

Alistair flicked on a lamp and reached for where he had left his wallet on the bedside table. Not for the first time that week, he pulled out the note Celia had written him and carefully smoothed out the creases, the corners of his mouth turning up ever so slightly as he looked at the stupid little smiling sunflower.

He wanted to talk to _Celia_. Only Celia. The truth of this realisation hit him like a freight train. Celia who always listened with almost frightening attentiveness. Celia who didn’t laugh at him or mock him, except when he was being intentionally funny. Celia who always seemed to think his opinion mattered for some reason.

But he couldn’t call her: she might be working on her research. And it would be weird of him, creepy even, to pester her after they had only been apart for a few days, especially when he was in such a bad mood. She probably hadn’t thought of him once since he had left, though he had thought of her often, and of the threatening messages about her in that forum…

Feeling hot from tossing and turning, Alistair stretched out onto his back, kicking the covers down. Staring at the ceiling he let out a weary sigh.

Maybe Wynne was right. Maybe he did need to reign himself in a bit when it came to Celia. He liked her a lot: he couldn’t _help_ but like her. And why wouldn’t he? She was beautiful _and_ smart _and_ kind. He liked her more than any other woman he had ever met. But she would probably never think of him in any way other than the buffoon who made her job difficult. He couldn’t–

Alistair’s phone began to ring. Propping himself up on his elbow, he grabbed it from the bedside table, his heart stuttering when he saw Celia’s name on the screen. Examining it with disbelief, he almost forgot to answer the call. In an absolute frenzied panic at the last second, he managed to swipe upwards and get out a breathless: “Celia?” as he brought it to his ear, worried she might have given up.

“Hello! You sound puffed. Did I catch you jogging?”

“I just ran for the phone,” he lied as he scrambled to get upright and propped his back against the headboard.

“I hope I’m not interrupting you with your family. Is it a bad time?”

“It’s a great time actually. I was just thinking about you.” He brought the heel of his hand to his forehead and pushed hard. Well, he could have filed that in a binder of things he hadn’t meant to admit out loud but there it was.

“Really? Probably relieved to not have me droning on about some ancient manuscript all day,” she said with a nervous laugh.

“I happen to like your droning.”

“Good. Because there is a lot more where that came from.”

“Save it up for me when I get back.”

“When will that be? Do you know? There’s no rush obviously. Just wondering.”

“A few more days probably.” Though the way things were going and in Isolde’s company it would feel like years. “I don’t know. I don’t have a clue what’s going on,” he said, sounding as defeated as he felt.

Celia hesitated. “It must be really difficult.”

“It’s…fine,” he didn’t know what else to say and there was a long silence. He wanted to tell her about the dinner, about how stupid and small Isolde had made him feel. But he was secretly worried Celia might agree. She was the smartest person he knew: how could he admit he had never graduated from Secondary School? “Have you been getting lots of work done?” he asked instead.

“A bit. It’s a give and take process always. Two steps forward, one step back.”

“You haven’t…” he pondered how to proceed. Been tracked down and accosted in the street by any internet weirdos? “Been too bored on the underground without me?”

She laughed. “Actually, the new – Rondall?”

“Oh yeah. Nice guy.”

“Yes. He has been giving me a ride. He lives near us apparently so that worked out well.”

“That’s great,” he said in a way that broadcast his relief a bit too obviously. “A car. How luxurious. You’ll get used to it: not bouncing around in a freezing, smelly, metal tube with me and half the population of Denerim morning and night. You won’t want me to ever come back,” he joked to cover it.

“Alistair?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s been…I’ve been worried about you. I know this must all be really hard. Your Uncle is he…?” she said, without ever really forming a question.

“I haven’t been able to see him yet. He hasn’t been up to it. But apparently it might not be so bad as they initially thought.”

“That sounds promising. I hope so.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“You’re okay? You must be tired.”

“I’m alright,” he lied. “Thanks for calling to check.”

“Honestly I miss you a bit.” A lump formed in Alistair’s throat. He swallowed rapidly, unable to budge it. “Was that weird? Did I make it weird?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light but he could hear the anxiety in her tone.

“No. I’ve missed you too. It’s just been a bad day.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yep,” he said in a strained voice that clearly said ‘no’.

She hummed disbelievingly. “I don’t want to bother you. Should I leave you be?” she asked gently.

“Don’t.”

There was a moment where she seemed to be thinking. Alistair braced, expecting a barrage of questions in her regular, unselfconsciously inquisitive fashion, but she must have decided against it. “I saw a gull steal a man’s doughnut yesterday morning, right out of his hands. I think he heard me laughing! He definitely glared at me anyway. Wish I had filmed it.”

Alistair snorted. “Were you down near the river? The gulls are absolutely merciless there. You can tell the locals from the tourists just based on whether they are shielding their food or not.”

“I was feeling a bit restless so I went on an adventure and got one of the chocolate éclairs you mentioned. From that bakery? Decided to see what all the fuss was about.”

“And was it amazing? I bet it was. Didn’t I tell you?” he said with real delight.

“So good. I went back in and ordered another the moment I finished the first and then ate that one in about thirty seconds too.”

“That’s my girl,” he said proudly then immediately wanted to punch himself in the face.

But Celia seemed unphased. “I pretended I was eating it on your behalf so you’re welcome by the way.”

He scoffed. “Your generosity is truly astounding. Thank you for thinking of me.”

“Knew you’d appreciate it! How was the drive there?”

“Slow. But nice to see some rolling hills and trees again. You would have liked the view. Lots of greenery.”

“Sounds beautiful,” she said wistfully. “Did you take a lot of breaks? Where did you stop?”

Alistair watched the moon move sluggishly across the window as they continued to talk. Their conversation was ambling and unhurried and he was grateful for the company. Hours passed, and Alistair had lain down again, putting the phone on speaker and resting it on the pillow. From the occasional rustling on the other end of the phone it sounded like Celia had too.

“And then,” he drawled, “After I ran away I was adopted by a pack of wolves who raised me as one of their pups.”

“Is that why I keep hearing someone howling at the moon in our building?”

“That’d be me sorry. Old habits and all that. At least I got rid of the fleas. Mostly.”

She laughed. “You’re evasive as ever. All I did was ask you a simple question.”

“I felt like you deserved something more interesting than the actual answer. Trust me: I’m doing you a favour.”

“What are you so afraid of me finding out?” she teased.

“Afraid of?” Alistair laughed. “Honestly? I’m afraid you’ll find out how boring I am.”

“Do I seem bored?”

“Difficult to say.”

She sighed. “So what else do you do in your free time? When you’re not _guarding_ things? Go to the gym?”

“Yeah, a bit. How did you know?”

“A lucky guess,” she told him drily.

“Huh?”

“Alistair. Have you looked at your own arms lately? Do you even own a mirror?”

Alistair let out an embarrassed laugh. “Okay. I take your point.”

“Well, I’ve got something out of you at least. He goes to the gym. Like blood from a stone…”

“Why don’t we do a trade then?”

“A trade?”

“You tell me something and I’ll tell you something.”

“Okay…no, wait. You have to actually tell me something. If you tell me your name is Alistair or you have ten fingers, I’m going to thump you with a book when I next see you.”

“No, no don’t hit me! I bruise easily!” he whimpered and she laughed. “So, your first fact?” he asked.

“I have to go first?” she said with a note of protest.

“Yep.”

“Fine. Some days I consider eating peanut butter from the jar with a spoon to be a complete meal.”

“Seems reasonable. Um…” he thought for a moment.

“Don’t wimp out on me: we had a deal.”

“Okay. Sometimes my friends make me go to horror films but I don’t want to admit I hate them so I just close my eyes.”

Celia let out a surprised laugh. “Really? You just sit there for two hours with your eyes closed?”

“Only for the scary bits.”

She must have moved the phone away from her face to laugh, staying that way for a humiliatingly long time. “Maker have mercy Alistair! That is a good one,” she said when she had recovered enough to speak.

“Aaand I already regret telling you.”

“Don’t. It’s _so_ sweet.”

“Well that makes me feel ten times worse about it. Come on: it’s your turn.”

“Okay. On that theme: I’m afraid of blood.”

“Erm, I hate to break it you but you’re full of it. Right now.”

“I don’t mind when it’s…not on my or someone else’s exterior. But if someone gets injured I just…I’m hopeless in a crisis and I…” Her sentence faded without ending.

“What? What happens?”

“I faint. I have fainted on more than one occasion. It’s really embarrassing.”

Alistair was elated by this revelation. “That’s _adorable_. You’re so delicate! You actually _swoon_.”

“Is this payback for me saying you’re sweet?” Celia asked flatly.

“Absolutely.”

“You could show my genuine fear a bit more respect you know. It has been very traumatising. I had to be assigned special work for Biology to keep my grades because I keeled over both times they asked me to dissect a frog. I just went all stiff and toppled off my stool.”

“Oh, I’m taking it very seriously,” Alistair said with a snicker.

“Isn’t it your turn to say something? Don’t suppose you have any embarrassing fears that might make me feel better?”

“I do have a recurring nightmare in which all my hair falls out.”

“Interesting. I wonder what that means.”

“That I don’t want my hair to fall out? It seems pretty straight forward,” Alistair said.

“Yes, but what does your hair represent?” Celia asked patiently.

“…My hair?”

“It always means something in a dream. Trust me.”

“Are you really into astrology too? Goblins and gnomes? Unicorns?”

“You just deny it then but you’ll keep having the dream until you figure out what it is trying to tell you.”

“Fine. I’ll put some real thought into it and get back to you if it makes you feel better. What’s your next fact?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I have any more facts.” She ended the sentence in a yawn. She was quiet for a little while and Alistair wondered if she had fallen asleep but then she said, “It’s such a long drive back for one person. Message me when you set off so I have an idea of when you’re on the road?”

“Why?” he said with a short laugh. “Just so you can worry about me?”

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation. Alistair couldn’t think of a response to that. “Take lots of breaks. Stick to the speed limit,” she reminded him, then she yawned loudly again, triggering him to yawn too.

“I will. Good night Celia. Thanks for – I really appreciate you calling.”

“Good night Alistair,” she said and he waited for her to hang up. There was a long pause until Celia said with confusion: “You’re still there?”

“So are you?”

“I hate hanging up first,” she said, sounding embarrassed.

“Me too,” Alistair admitted.

“Oh. Well this isn’t going to go well for us.”

“Both of us hang up on the count of three then?” he suggested.

“Okay. Good plan. One…two…three,” she said and then after a beat, they both started laughing when they realised neither of them had done it.

“Seems like we are at an impasse,” Alistair finally managed.

“I must warn you: I can be very stubborn.”

“I know,” Alistair said then added, “But I won’t let you have this victory,” before she could object.

“I didn’t expect you would give up so easily. Stay on the phone then. But I’m going to sleep.”

“Fine. I am too. And if my snoring wakes you up then don’t blame me.”

“My alarm goes off at 5:30 AM by the way,” she told him.

“Good. I’m looking forward to it,” he bluffed.

“Glad to hear it,” she said. They both went quiet and Alistair waited for a long time for the beep of the call being ended. When it didn’t come, he began to doze off. He was too drowsy to answer when he just barely heard Celia whisper: “Sleep well Alistair.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness this was hard to write. Poor Alistair. I am not a big fan of Eamon ugh - anyone with me?  
> Sorry for any errors in this (and the whole fic). I am finding it so difficult to proofread the longer chapters! Only because I end up writing more as I edit and then that needs proofing but then I write more and onward I struggle... 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Hope you're enjoying. :)


	7. Homecoming

The dinner party had been a humiliating mess and Alistair was now harbouring a very real concern that Isolde may be plotting to evict him without him ever seeing Eamon. But despite this, he had woken in a good mood.

Perhaps it was hearing Celia's voice first thing, groggily annoyed at him for managing to be chipper despite the fact her alarm had woken them both. Alistair had lain in bed, contentedly watched the sun peek out over the tree line through his window as she had talked sleepily about her plans for the day: a chapter she was outlining, a book she needed to check a quote in and that she needed to buy bread. In the end, his phone battery had cut out, finally ending their marathon call.

Alistair ventured to the kitchen intending to charm a bowl of cereal or some toast from the staff and was surprised to see Connor waiting by the kettle.

Connor, while obviously shy, seemed intrigued by Alistair. He had often caught him staring, even out of windows as Alistair paced the grounds. Likely Connor was just eager to check out the famous dullard Isolde must portray him as, but Alistair had wondered if the boy was keen to talk to someone from the outside world. He seemed to live such a narrow existence here behind the wrought iron gates of the estate, and his mother’s idea of safety seemed to verge on imprisonment. Maybe Connor found his mother suffocating in completely the opposite way than Alistair had as a child: she had pushed Alistair out and now kept Connor trapped inside so in a sense neither of them had a choice. But he never got a chance to test this theory as Isolde kept ushering her son away every time Alistair got too near. It was as if she though Alistair was an ogre who might gobble him up.

“Morning,” Alistair said casually as Connor gave him an openly curious look.

“Good morning,” he replied. “I trust you slept well? I noticed you retired early last night.” It was the most syllables Alistair had heard in a row from him and he was unsurprised to hear a careful, polished accent.

“Yeah, not really my kind of bash.”

“Nor mine. I wish I could get up and walk out sometimes,” Connor confessed.

Alistair shot the boy a sympathetic look. “I can understand that. Hey: sorry about your dad.”

Connor looked away. “He speaks of you a great deal. Mostly when Mother is not around.”

“Really?” Alistair was genuinely surprised, but this was as far as the conversation was allowed to proceed before Isolde appeared. It was as if Alistair had set of a proximity alarm for being too close to her precious son.

“Leave that sweetheart. I’ll bring you your tea,” Isolde told Connor in agitated voice, casting an angry look at Alistair. Connor put down the cup he was holding and drifted away in perfect compliance. “What were you talking about?” she asked him, as soon as Connor was out of the room.

“The shipping forecast,” Alistair told her, leaning against a bench and folding his arms.

She narrowed her eyes. “Is that attitude really necessary? This is a very difficult time for my family.”

 _Her_ family. “I’m aware,” Alistair said, as neutrally as he could manage.

Isolde examined her fingernails on an outstretched hand. “I’m beginning to wonder if you should see Eamon at all. He just doesn’t need this stress right now. I’m concerned you’ll only agitate him, behaving like this. Like last night. I’ve never been so embarrassed in front of my friends,” she told him, even as her expression betrayed smug elation.

Alistair could feel anger bubbling in his gut but choked back the words he so badly wanted to say, knowing any hint of antagonism would only further satisfy her, adding to her mental tally of ‘evidence’ against him. “I’m not planning on upsetting him. It really wasn’t up there on my to-do list for the day.”

Isolde poured the kettle into a teapot, swirled it around then tipped it out. Then she added tea leaves from a tiny tin and filled it with water again. “He is awake now, if you would like to have a brief visit.” Alistair was taken aback by this sudden acquiescence and didn’t speak. She gave him a cold look. “You have Teagan to thank for this: he called on Eamon last night and informed him you were here. Eamon was very restless and demanded to see you right away. I’m certain the agitation of it set his recovery back significantly.”

“Why didn’t you come and get me? I would have come,” Alistair asked, exasperated.

“He needed rest,” Isolde snipped. “It just proved my point that your being here is a bad idea. He does not need any…additional emotional turmoil.” Her face fell a little and she lightly brushed her forehead with the back of her hand. Maybe it was because she hadn’t plastered on her usual thick layer of makeup for the day, but she suddenly she looked very young.

“Isolde,” he said, and the use of her name seemed to startle her. “I’m worried for him too. I only want to see him. I didn’t come back to start an argument with him. With _anyone_ ,” he said the last word with emphasis.

“Hurry up then,” she said and turned her back on him, fussing over the tea things.

* * *

Eamon was sitting up on the bed, on top of the duvet but with a blanket draped over his legs and about eight cushions at his back. He was frail, frailer than Alistair could have imagined possible. Even his frame seemed to have shrunk from the big, charismatic man Alistair had remembered, his skin loose around his bony wrists and his pale cheeks hollow. An IV ran from his arm to a bag on a stand beside the bed where some other equipment flashed and beeped intermittently. Alistair tried not to let his shock show.

“Alistair,” Eamon said, his voice thick with emotion. “My dear boy. Look at you. Just look at you.” It was clear that every tiny movement cost him, though he was trying not to show it. Eamon took a deep, rattling breath inwards.

“Hi Uncle Eamon,” Alistair said shyly, his voice somehow reverting to that of the child he had been when he had last lived here. He suddenly felt like he was too big, and his limbs too clumsy to risk going anywhere near Eamon and he hovered at the doorframe, guiltily wishing he could leave again.

“Come where I can hear you properly. Sit down.” His Uncle turned his head slightly towards a chair near the bed and Alistair reluctantly walked over. “Look at you,” he said again, and Alistair realised with embarrassment that the man’s eyes were misty.

“It’s been a while,” Alistair said, self-conscious and picking his words carefully as he sat.

“I came to the school. I tried a couple of times in the first year.”

“I know,” Alistair said. He had refused to see him. What was the point, if he wasn’t coming to get him out and take him home? He had been miserable, isolated, struggling in nearly every class. The last thing he wanted was another adult lecturing him on how lucky he was to be there, especially Eamon: the only family Alistair had ever known.

Eamon: who was apparently happy to shove Alistair out of sight without hesitation if it meant his new wife would be in a better mood.

Eamon: who had unintentionally made Alistair feel all his life as if he had done something wrong just for existing.

Alistair dropped his gaze, clasped his hands, then unclasped them again. “I’m sorry,” Alistair heard himself say automatically.

“Duncan’s taking care of you?”

“He always has,” Alistair said pointedly and without thinking, then raked a hand down his face. Maybe Isolde was right to try and keep him away from Eamon.

“I’m glad he’s taken you under his wing. He’s a good man,” Eamon replied a little stiffly.

“Yes,” Alistair said simply, not trusting himself to elaborate. He stared down the bed where Eamon’s feet poked out from under the blanket. They were encased in thick maroon socks but still looked narrow and vulnerable. Even that was strange and he looked away uncomfortably. It occurred to Alistair that he had never before in his life seen Eamon without shoes on. “Are you…feeling alright?” he asked hesitantly.

“Fighting fit. Had a turn, probably something I ate. Now I’m just consenting to all this nonsense to satisfy Isolde,” he said, gesturing at the bed. “She overreacts, dear woman. Shipped in some foreign quack. Ridiculous fuss over nothing. If not for her I’d be back at work.”

Alistair doubted that from the pallid colour of his face and the way his hand had shaken when he raised it. Despite undoubtedly still loathing her, he felt a sudden, unexpected rush of sympathy for Isolde. “Just follow orders until you’re released from imprisonment I guess.”

“That’s the plan. I’m slowly learning to sit still.” He managed a smile. A man that Alistair assumed must be the doctor walked in briskly, ignored them both and jabbed at some buttons on a monitor on the opposite side of the bed. He then adjusted something on the IV cable and walked out again. Alistair watched him go, thinking that for what Isolde had claimed to be paying him, the least he could have done was said: ‘good morning’.

“He seems nice at least,” Alistair told his Uncle drily. “Always a comfort to have a friendly doctor to jolly you along as you recover.”

Eamon laughed hard, a rasping sound like sandpaper on brick, until his eyes began to water. Alistair looked about for water, thinking to get him a drink, but there was nothing. “It’s good to have you home,” he finally said. Alistair opened his mouth to speak then closed it again, and stared at the tight floral pattern on the duvet. “I heard about your phone call. From Theirin Industries? I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you. I had begun to look into it before I was…”

“It’s fine. I understand now,” Alistair said hastily.

“Despite my enquiries being interrupted, I had the opportunity to speak with Anora Mac Tir.”

“And what did she want?”

Eamon chuckled darkly. “Apart from world domination? To call you again and arrange a meeting to discuss some kind of relationship with Theirin Industries.” When Alistair flinched and didn’t answer Eamon added: “You’ll agree to go.” Alistair noted it wasn’t a question.

“I’m not sure Eamon.”

“They’re keen to bring you on board.”

“What does that even mean? I thought my existence was considered toxic for the company, why acknowledge me in any way now?”

Eamon smiled cynically. “Anora will have her reasons. They may or may not become clear in time: she is a shrewd woman.”

“You sound like you don’t like her.”

“I respect her, but she will ever be guided by her own motivations.”

“I don’t like it. You don’t even understand why they want to see me and you still want me to go? And just…see what happens?”

“Yes, you may be able to carve an opportunity out of this. Make some inroads.”

“Into _what?_ ” Alistair asked with mounting confusion and a touch of dread.

“Making you mark at Theirin Industries.” Eamon gave Alistair a pointed look.

“You must be joking,” Alistair said bluntly and with no amusement. “Someone fetch that doctor back I think there’s something wrong with your head.”

“Though it must seem it to you, this is not a new idea. It was always my intention to prepare you for this eventuality.”

“And those preparations failed,” Alistair quickly pointed out.

“Not necessarily.”

“I know it says ‘Theirin’ on the side of the skyscraper, but there would be a thousand people in that company better positioned than me to ‘make inroads’. Maker, the person who comes to clean the carpets would have more of an understanding of what goes on than I do.” Alistair explained, wondering if his uncle truly had lost his mind.

“People like continuity. And they like the idea of a family business: it is critical to the branding and has always set Theirin Industries apart. Once a company gets that big, it needs something to ground it with the customers. Family does that: it’s relatable, it’s accessible to the consumers and investors.”

“Yeah well, I’ve never been considered part of that family. By anyone.”

“Maric was your father, same as Cailan.”

“And Cailan was actually raised to do this! They probably had him in a tiny baby business suit the day he was born. And it obviously worked: he’s Mr. Popular, at least based on the number of times I see his name in the headlines.”

Eamon took a deep, wheezing breath. “You would be a perfect counterbalance to him. Cailan is good with the media, often for the wrong reasons. But the same traits that make him good with the media make him unpopular with the shareholders and the company Board. He wants to please everyone he meets. He blurts things out just to get the journalists onside, always telling them what they want to hear or painting things in a better light than they are. He never wants to be the bad guy.”

“Neither do I.”

“But you’re different Alistair,” Eamon said with conviction and a spark seemed to light behind his eyes, making him seem suddenly less feeble than before. “You would listen to instructions. You could be taught. Guided. You’re capable of being just as charismatic as Cailan is, but could act with the direction and steady hand of the Board of Directors behind you.” Alistair scrunched up his face. “I mean it Alistair. You lack confidence, that’s all. And once I was elected to the Board, I would help you with that. This is in your blood.”

“I have no interest in it, blood or not. My father made it clear he didn’t want me anywhere near his precious company.”

“It was never as cut and dry as you’ve been allowed to believe. Maric was a smart man. His goal was to avoid conflict: a power struggle between two sons that might divide assets and destroy his legacy. That didn’t mean he was against every form of…collaboration. Or your involvement in general.”

Alistair raised a sceptical eyebrow. “He told you this, did he?”

“He was a businessman, before anything else, and he always prioritised what was best for the company. Right now, that is your involvement Alistair, in whatever way Anora is planning. Play by their rules to start with. It’s time to get your foot in the door and then we can go from there.”

“I can’t do it,” Alistair said, not to mention that he didn’t want to. He hated the very idea.

“I’d be there, right behind you at all times,” Eamon assured him. “You wouldn’t need to make a single decision alone.”

Alistair said nothing, but suddenly recalled the way Teagan had described Anora: _“Very influential. Practically runs the joint for him. Gets her way – but nicely. Knows all his passwords, orders his groceries, even signs his name for him apparently”._ Is that what people would say about Eamon and him?

This was the most energetic Eamon had looked since Alistair had come in the room. He sat up a little straighter and his voice sounded stronger as he continued: “And who is to say that once you have established yourself, _proven_ yourself, the Board won’t take note of your abilities where Cailin is lacking? If they prefer you, and if they can justify that it is for the best interests of the company, there may come a time when you can take Cailan’s place as CEO.”

Gobsmacked, Alistair mouthed out each letter of CEO in disbelief. “Maker Eamon. I don’t want that. I really don’t,” he said weakly, feeling like he was losing strength even as Eamon gained it.

“You don’t know what you want. _Think_ Alistair: this is your birthright. You’re as much Maric’s son as Cailin is and we – you have so much to give that company. It could be so much more. I know what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t doubt that, but they’d want someone _properly_ qualified surely, despite what you say.” He was intentionally and uncomfortably dancing around the mutual sore spot that was his prematurely aborted education.

“You think Cailan is qualified? He drank and womanised his way through Business School. Half of his professors passed him just because of his surname and the other half were bought off. I’ve kept my ear to the ground all these years and many of the stakeholders question Cailan’s suitability as CEO. There are murmurings, undercurrents of dissent…It may not take much to fan the flames in which case a replacement would be sought. All you would need to do is be visible at the right time. You have real potential here Alistair.”

“I disagree,” he said flatly.

“You’re quick witted, like your father was. They used to call him the Silver Tongue, did you know that?”

“Sadly I don’t think ‘sense of humour’ on an otherwise completely blank résumé is going to get me far, in any context.”

“You’re personable, and you’d heed advice from more experienced backers. A period of stable, rational stewardship is just what Theirin Industries needs in these tumultuous economic times: trust me.”

“You’ve clearly given it a lot of thought,” Alistair said, not trying to conceal his misgivings in his tone. “But I’m not interested in this. Any of it. At all.” He felt like he was running out of ways to explain this to his Uncle. “I’ve never wanted it.”

“You don’t have to decide now. Think about it. This isn’t something you can, or should, cast aside lightly.”

“If you say so.”

“Don’t disappoint me Alistair.” ‘ _Again,’_ Alistair added mentally. “Promise me you’ll think about it,” Eamon said with such assertiveness that Alistair could only answer sincerely, feeling cowed.

“I will.”

The burst of energy that discussing Theirin Industries seemed to have inspired in Eamon faded and his uncle slumped back into the cushions looking spent. It was clearly time to leave.

Alistair rose and wondered if he should hug him, though he never had before, not even as a very young child. Not to mention it looked like even the slightest pressure might break him, this man who had always filled a room with his presence, all confidence and sturdiness. Instead, Alistair reached out and touched the blanket briefly, right next to where his Uncle’s hand lay, then left the room without another word.

* * *

Now that he was all packed Alistair took a moment to regard his childhood bedroom impassively. It was like a blank slate, although it had never had much personality to begin with. Whatever he had treasured when he was younger, he had already taken: namely his action figure collectibles which still decorated his flat in Denerim. There was nothing else that hinted even remotely at all the years he had spent there, and all the other possessions and bits of furniture felt like they belonged more to Isolde than him, though Maker knew she had probably never once ventured this close to the servant’s lodgings.

He had shouldered his bag and was making to leave when a flash of gold caught his eye. On the bookshelf, the elegantly embossed, green spine of a book seemed to wink at him as it caught the sunlight. Alistair was drawn over as if hypnotised and pulled it out, already knowing what it was and beholding it with wonderment.

This was something that truly was his: a gift. He had no idea it was still in Redlciffe. He had spent years thinking he had lost it at school and long since given up on ever seeing it again…but here it was. He ran a hand over the familiar cover, flipped instinctively to the illustrated title page and gazed upon it with warm recognition like a photo of an old friend. _‘Dale the Dastardly Dwarf goes Topside Turvy: The Great Nug Heist’_ , he read, tracing a finger over the words and silently mouthing them with a smile. It had been his favourite, not that there had been a whole lot of competition.

He was nearly ten, and had fled from his Uncle’s estate after being told he was being sent to boarding school. A tantrum of epic, previously unseen proportions had done nothing to change his Uncle’s resolve over the matter, and had only prompted Isolde to start weeping and shrieking back at him like she was the injured party. He had stormed out, expecting – no, _hoping_ someone would follow him. But no one did. So he had run. And run. And kept running through woods and fields until he tasted blood at the back of his throat and felt like his lungs were on fire and could go no further.

Feeling like he might pass out, Alistair had finally collapsed near the dumpster at the back of the motorway station on the fringe of Redcliffe. Hidden there among the carboard boxes, he had struggled for panicky gulps of air. The last thing he wanted was to be approached by a strange girl, around his age and apparently blind to his anguish based on the cheeriness of her greeting. Hoping she would go away, he didn’t respond and tried using the sleeve of his jumper to swipe at the tears and snot streaming down his face.

If she told him her name, he didn’t remember it. Alistair couldn’t even have said what she looked like, given he kept turning his face away in the hope that she wouldn’t see him crying. He did remember her prattling on about where she was going with her family and why. As if he should care about that when his whole world was crumbling. At first, he had wanted her to shut up. He had nearly told her as much, but after a while, he couldn’t help but be distracted by her steadily babbling voice. His erratic breathing began to calm and the exhausted darkness threatening at the edge of his vision abated as she explained at length what her brother had chosen for snacks in the car and how she thought he was stupid because there were much better options and that she wouldn’t trade with him even though she was sure he would ask.

Then she held out the book. Alistair flinched away but undeterred, she kept it steadily outstretched towards him. “I’ve finished it already. We’re catching a plane next and Dad will buy me something new to read at the airport. I don’t want to lug two books in carry on and my case is already stuffed full.” Alistair had shot her a distrustful look then examined the book like it was a trap. “It’s really funny,” she told him matter-of-factly. “And not to be rude but you look like you could use cheering up.” When Alistair continued to ignore her, she put it down on the ground next to him. “Take it if you want. Bye!” And she was gone again.

She had been right: it was funny.

Still smiling at the memory, Alistair unzipped his duffle bag and shoved the book in.

* * *

About to turn the key in the ignition and all in all more than ready to leave Redcliffe in the rear-view mirror, Alistair’s phone rang and he was pleased to see it was Duncan.

“Hey. I’m about to head off.”

“Eamon alright?”

“Better. And I should be right to get back to work tomorrow.”

“Sure you don’t want another day to settle back in?”

“I’d rather get back to normal.”

“Alright. Then you should know there has been a development.”

“Oh?” Alistair said, his heart immediately racing. “Is Celia…?” he began to ask in a panicky voice and cut himself off. Feigning professionalism he tried again. “What’s the issue?”

“Celia’s fine. But you were right: she has started getting abuse on her social media. Fake accounts naturally.”

“Is it the same sort of stuff from the forums? Threats?”

“Yes.”

“Maker,” Alistair said, running a worried hand down his face and massaging his jaw. “They’re getting bolder if they’re reaching out to her directly.”

“But notably still on the other side of a screen. As long as it stays that way, which we hope and assume it will, all we can do is remain vigilant.”

“Will do,” Alistair said with a lot more confidence than he felt.

Throwing his phone into the passenger seat and groping for the key dangling from the ignition once more, Alistair suddenly felt like he had a lot to think about on the drive home.

* * *

After he had dropped off his bag in his flat and splashed water on his face, Alistair knocked on Celia’s door. There was no reply but he wasn’t expecting one. Naturally she would be at the library and another staff member from Warden Watch would be on shift. Considering he would see her first thing tomorrow; it would make absolutely no sense for him to go there.

But he went anyway.

“Alistair!” she yelled with obvious delight upon seeing him. She jumped up from her chair sending a book flying out of her hands and knocking a sheaf of loose papers from the table onto the ground. She quickly stooped to snatch the papers up with no apparent concern for their order as Alistair grinned, pleased but embarrassed. His colleague, Rondall, looked up from his phone and threw a glance over his shoulder.

“Hey buddy. Did our shifts get mixed up? Thought I was on today?” he asked Alistair.

Alistair glanced at Celia. “No, you’re all good. I was just in the neighbourhood and I realised I left my um…in the lobby,” he lied.

Celia, catching on quickly, added: “Oh yes! Your uh…I have it. I’ll walk you out and get it for you.”

“Yeah great. I’ve been lost without…it,” Alistair improvised unconvincingly.

“Cool. I’ll see you at the office sometime pal.” Rondall gave him a brief wave and turned back to his phone.

“Back in a minute,” Celia said, taking off her reading glasses and dropping them onto the keyboard of her laptop.

“Sure thing,” Rondall said, frantically mashing at whatever phone game he was playing.

Back in the main room, they walked through the general access shelves of the library until they saw an empty row and Celia beckoned him down it. Alistair followed unquestioningly and they barely made it half way down before she turned and threw her arms around his neck in a hug, having to jump just to reach. He staggered slightly from the impact, but caught her automatically, his arms supporting her as he crouched slightly so her feet could rest on the ground again. Stunned as he was, he tried to memorise the moment. Her arms tight around his neck and her cheek pressed against his, her breathy laughter right beside his ear that echoed his own, her hair _everywhere_ and smelling amazing, wondering if she could feel how much his heart was pounding as she pressed against him. But there was too much to process: it was like seeing flashes of landscape through a train window.

He straightened as she released him. She took a couple of rapid steps backwards, looking flustered but still smiling up at him. “Sorry: I couldn’t resist. It’s just so good to see you.”

“I’m not complaining,” Alistair said with a laugh, though his ears were feeling very hot. “It’s good to see you too. In case you couldn’t tell from me being here.”

“I’m so glad you stopped by.”

“Yeah. Well,” he said awkwardly and cleared his throat. “I was on my way to see some friends so thought I would pop in and say ‘hi’.” Sure, he was meeting those friends on the opposite side of town and the library was entirely out of his way but he didn’t want her to know just how completely pathetic he was. “Hi,” he added with a laugh. She laughed too and they both looked away quickly.

“You were meant to message me when you were on your way,” she reminded him accusingly.

“And spoil that surprised reaction from you? Papers flying and all?” Alistair teased. But in truth, he felt a little shellshocked. He genuinely wasn’t sure anyone had ever been so pleased to see him in his entire life.

Celia beamed at him and then her expression turned worried, her eyes darting searchingly over his face. “You look tired. Are you okay?” she asked gently.

“Are _you_ okay?” he volleyed in return at her, at a loss for anything more subtle.

“Better now you’re back,” she said in such a genuine way that Alistair barely resisted the urge to put a hand over his heart as it suddenly ached. “That was a long week.”

“Was it just a week? It felt like months.”

“Not just me then?” she said with another melting smile.

“Uh,” Alistair said, his mind blank as he desperately tried to remind himself of what he had come here to say. “Duncan called. He said some people have been harassing you on social media.”

Celia’s smile disappeared instantly and her family expression hardened. “Not people. Not really. All fake profiles and nonsense.”

“Still. It’s…not nice,” he said ineffectually and she rolled her eyes. Alistair regarded her with confusion. “You’re not upset?”

“I’m ignoring it as best I can,” she said flatly, clearly displeased he had raised the topic at all.

“But it bothered you enough that you told Duncan about it?”

Celia bristled with irritation and let out a huff. “Actually, I didn’t: it was Dad. I wasn’t quick enough to delete the comments this time and he saw a few. I think he must have called Duncan on my behalf.”

Something clicked in Alistair’s brain. “What do you mean by: ‘this time’? Wait. Are you saying…Has this been going on for a while?”

Celia shrugged. “Since I won the grant. Since before I even came to Denerim actually. I just go through and delete them every morning as soon as I wake up.”

Alistair stared at her, dumbstruck and dismayed. “You never said anything!”

“Should I have?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “They’re just trolls. The internet is full of them.”

“This isn’t just nasty comments though. They’re threatening you.”

“It’s just talk,” she said, pushing her fringe back from her face roughly a few times as if it suddenly bothered her.

“It’s harassment. Abuse even,” he told her firmly.

She frowned. “For Andraste’s sake! Don’t overreact.”

“Celia…” Alistair didn’t know what to say so he gave her an imploring look that disarmed her frown almost immediately and she floundered, looking lost.

“Your friends are probably waiting for you and I should get back to work.” As Alistair mounted a protest, she gave him in another brief hug that took him as much by surprise as the first one had, and, having successfully distracted him from pursuing their conversation any further, quickly left.

* * *

“Late again,” Leliana said as he slipped into the chair at the end of the table. Though she was smiling, Cullen’s look of disapproval on the other hand, was unquestionably genuine.

“I just drove for an entire day: give me a break,” Alistair grumbled half-heartedly to play along.

“You shouldn’t let the fact that you’re on holiday compromise your punctuality,” Cullen told him and Alistair rolled his eyes.

“I haven’t been on a _holiday_. It wasn’t me reclining in a flamingo pool floaty, sipping from a coconut all week. Besides: you’re on leave too.”

“And I was on time,” Cullen pointed out.

“Early,” Leliana corrected him teasingly but Cullen only looked more self-satisfied.

Alistair adopted a chipper tone. “I’m so glad joining the Chantry Guard has done nothing to dampen your natural joy and spontaneity Cullen.”

Cullen gave Alistair a narrow look. “It might do you some good if you signed up. You could benefit from the structure.”

“But do you really want me there: trailing around, making you look bad, whinging endlessly? It’d be just like school again.”

Cullen groaned. “Point taken.”

“Every year my report card said the same thing: _‘Alistair is a corrupting influence on his more studious peers’_ ,” he recalled with gratification.

“I don’t think they intended for you to be quite so proud of that,” Cullen told him.

“Really? I thought it was a badge of honour! Are you telling me I shouldn’t have framed it then?”

Cullen gave him a fatigued look. “May I assume from your high spirits that your uncle is doing well?”

“Yes. He’s much better. It’s a relief.”

“How was it? Being back there? And seeing him after all this time?” Leliana asked cautiously.

“I’m not glad he was ill but I am glad it forced my hand in talking to him again.” Alistair considered bringing up the conversation about Theirin Industries but held his tongue. He wasn’t ready to delve into that yet and hear their no doubt strong opinions, not when he had barely had time to let Eamon’s words sink in. “It was okay,” he added as an afterthought.

“Good,” Leliana said sincerely.

Cullen, apparently deciding this conversation was now complete, turned to Leliana and asked her a question about a statement Justinia had made in the morning paper regarding changes to tax for small businesses.

Alistair yawned, his eyes glazing over as they conversed in concerned, serious tones. Maker it had been a long drive.

He fished his phone from his pocket when it pinged with a message. It was Celia: _“So glad you’re back. Sorry if I was abrupt earlier. Didn’t mean to be tetchy :(“_

 _“Hug made up for it :)”_ he typed back quickly, hiding his phone under the table.

_“You’re meant to be angry!”_

Completely baffled, Alistair blinked at his phone. _“Why???”_

_“Because I was going to offer to get pizza tonight to make it up to you – or tomorrow if you’ll be out?”_

_“In that case I’m furious! Absolutely seething! Tonight! Four cheese!”_ Alistair wrote, illustrating the message emphatically with one enraged face and about nine pizza emojis.

“Alistair?” Leliana said curtly.

“What?” he said, his head snapping back up towards her.

“I asked you a question.”

“Come again?”

“Who are you messaging?”

“I’m not messaging anyone,” Alistair lied obviously.

“We are your loving friends yet you have the nerve to sit there completely absorbed by your phone at our reunion,” Leliana admonished. Alistair glanced at Cullen who looked less like a loving friend and more like an irritated older sibling.

“Well your conversation was so _boring_ ,” he argued. As Leliana glared at him still, Alistair sighed and put his phone down on the table, facedown. “Happy?” he said in surrender. Leliana scooped the phone up before he even had a chance to react.

“I knew it. _Celia_ ,” she said triumphantly as Alistair heard a message tone.

“It was a work thing.”

“Really? Because she has just sent a message saying: _‘My place then. Mittens was asking after you the whole time you were gone btw.’_ What does that mean?”

Alistair couldn’t help himself and let out a snort. “Nothing.”

“That didn’t seem like nothing,” Cullen pointed out flatly as he stirred his coffee.

“It’s just a joke. Because her cat hates me so…It’s really nothing.”

He may as well have told Leliana that he had bought her a pony she looked so delighted. “You have in-jokes now? My my. I’m surprised you’re even bothering to spend time with us this afternoon instead of rushing straight back to…Mittens.” Alistair said nothing, but his guilty expression must have given him away. Leliana let out a scandalised gasp. “You’ve already seen her!”

“I was checking on…I left my…It was work…” Lying in front of Rondall was one thing: his colleague wasn’t really interested or paying attention. But lying in front of Leliana was, as ever, absolutely impossible.

Leliana tutted but her cat-like smile was growing ever wider as she looked at his phone. “Should I reply for you?”

“No!” Alistair yelled so loudly that customers at nearby tables swivelled to look at him. “No,” he said again, firmly but more quietly.

Leliana raised an eyebrow. “Okay,” she said, but tapped swiftly with her thumbs and unlocked his phone anyway.

Alistair blinked in surprise. “How do you know my code?”

Leliana rolled her eyes. “I don’t. I just tried your birthday and it worked.”

“Oh yeah,” Alistair laughed.

“Alistair what were you thinking?” Cullen said, putting down the spoon with a clatter to massage his temples as Alistair gave him a sheepish look.

Leliana meanwhile, continued to explore his phone. Alistair could have stopped her if he had really wanted to, but what was the point when she always got what she wanted out of him anyway? “You still have a photo of her as your background?” she asked, though clearly she could see it was the case.

“Of who?” Alistair asked, playing dumb in an attempt to disengage from the line of questioning.

“You know _who_ ,” Leliana said with a sigh. “She’s so pretty. You weren’t at my party Cullen. What do you think?” She then held the phone up to Cullen who glanced at it briefly and shrugged.

“She looks cheerful,” he said, but not in a way that made it sound like a positive.

Leliana squinted at the photo again. “Were you the one taking this, Alistair?”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Don’t you _see_ how she’s looking at you? Goodness,” Leliana explained, a little breathlessly.

“Don’t be absurd,” he said as he took his phone back, but he couldn’t stop himself from examining the photo again anyway. “You met her _once_. You don’t know a thing about her. Don’t try and…don’t go and bother her or anything.”

“I think he’s intriguingly protective of her. Don’t you Cullen?”

“I think he needs to start prioritising his career. It's unprofessional to be so involved,” Cullen said.

“He’s blushing. And sweating. Is there a roaring fireplace in here I didn’t notice?” Leliana continued, undeterred by Cullen and looking about the room.

“You’re making something out of nothing. It’s not funny,” Alistair told her.

“If it is nothing, why are you getting so flustered?”

“Leliana,” Cullen said warningly, for which Alistair was profoundly grateful.

But Leliana only leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. “Why don’t you tell us your next move with her Alistair. Unless you need some input? You do have a next move planned, don’t you?” When he looked gormlessly at her she sighed: “Oh Alistair.”

“My next move is ordering a coffee. Do you want anything?” he said, and stood up abruptly.

As he stalked to the counter he grumbled inwardly. Why did she have to be so nosy? Why did she have to see straight through him? Why did she have to be _right_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eamon is the wooooooorst x a million pass it on.


	8. Friction

Alistair had been making aimless laps of the library perimeter like a bored aquarium fish for the last couple of hours. He looked at his watch and skulked back to where Celia was seated in middle of an avalanche of open books and papers. She was unmistakably frazzled, muttering to herself as she leafed through one of her notebooks.

“Did you know it’s Friday? Friday evening?” he asked her.

“Yes. Why?” Celia asked, glancing briefly at her daily planner just in case he was trying to trick her.

“Comes after Thursday and before Saturday.”

She sighed peevishly as she scrawled a few words in a margin and pushed her reading glasses further up the bridge of her nose. “Are you trying to hint something?”

“Me? No. Just demonstrating the breadth of my understanding of the days of the week.”

“It’s very impressive,” she said without amusement.

“Last weekday before the weekend. Friday is I mean. The weekend…” he prompted as she ignored him and picked up a book. “A time of rest…”

“Alistair,” she snapped, turning a page without looking up at him. “If you have somewhere you need to be then just _leave_. I promise I won’t steal Tevinter’s precious book, but I need to keep working with it so I’m keeping this.” Without asking, she reached across the table and took his access badge, slipping it into her pocket. He had left it out because she had been going back and forth to the secure room all day as if anxious the volume might be transforming between visits.

“You can’t keep that,” he told her, but without making any attempt to actually retrieve it.

“I’m too busy to worry about pandering to an arbitrary set of rules from a country that concerns itself more with protecting its property than improving its current human rights record.”

Feeling out of his depth, Alistair changed the subject. “I was hoping to go to the pub,” he told her.

“Then go,” she said but he didn’t budge.

“With you,” he added.

She went very still, then looked up at him slowly, blinking owlishly. “Me?”

“I was talking to the other person in the room with us,” Alistair laughed, gesturing around the empty library. “Yes: you.”

“I’m still working Alistair,” she said, but he could see her shoulders sinking. She looked suddenly exhausted, the dark shadows under her eyes emphasised by the cold glow of her laptop screen.

“You’ve been working all week. Like absolute mad, even by _your_ standards.”

“But there’s still so much I need to get done,” she told him, sounding slightly uncertain.

“Are you saying I’ll have to go and drink on my own. I’ll look so sad. You don’t want that for me, do you? And even I can’t finish that cheesy dip alone. Don’t make me try.”

“I have to submit a progress report by next Wednesday or they won’t release the rest of my funding.”

“You’ll burn out before Wednesday at this rate.”

She seemed to be considering, chewing her bottom lip, her eyes darting between him and her laptop “I can’t,” she said finally, picking up her book again and holding it up to block him from view.

But Alistair could tell she wanted to, and that was enough for him. He leaned across the table and lifted the book from her hands. She didn’t resist, and watched as he snapped it shut and tossed it aside. Her mouth opened a little in shock but she said nothing, just looked at him with a hint of challenge in her eyes. Holding her gaze, he carefully pushed on her laptop with one outstretched finger until the lid closed. She raised her eyebrows but still she didn’t speak. Finally, he reached towards her face, moving even more slowly. Celia watched him carefully but didn’t flinch away as he gently pulled her reading glasses from her nose, folded the arms, and placed them down on the desk.

“Satisfied?” she asked, sounding a little exasperated but he could see her lips turning up ever so slightly at the corners.

“You’ve done enough for today,” Alistair said resolutely. “Let’s go.”

A couple of hours later they were seated in a quiet corner of the beer garden at The Nug’s Tail, a dish of dip scraped clean between them. Alistair drained his glass and stretched his legs out in front of him, trying to get comfortable in the tiny garden chair before he continued his story while Celia listened with rapt attention. “And so I got there, ran up the front steps, thinking the worst. You know, thinking Eamon might be dying. Or already dead. Flew to the front door, nearly barrelled into Isolde - that’s his wife - who just…looked at me like I was a home intruder.”

“Not happy to see you then?”

“About as happy as anyone is to see half a worm in their apple. But I don’t care at that point: I’m so focused on Eamon. I ask where he is…” Alistair scoffed before he could finish his sentence.

“What did she say?”

“She asked me to move my car. That was all she said. To move it, because she was about to take the Mercedes to Harrods and I had parked in the way. I was just…” He mimed shock.

Celia leaned towards him, resting her elbows on the table. “Andraste’s tears no she _didn’t_.”

“Yeah. So, after a minute of me just gawping at her, she explained that the Mercedes has more boot space. In a very slow voice. That was it.”

“Nothing about how Eamon was?”

“Nope,” he let out a frustrated grumble. “And this is why I haven’t been back to Redcliffe for so long.”

“But your uncle must have been pleased to see you?”

Alistair picked up a stray chip, then abandoned it listlessly. “It was a complicated.”

“How so?”

“We were talking about my father. And his work. His business. His company thing.” Celia went very still, as if she thought she might startle him and halt the conversation if she moved. Honestly, she might have been right: Alistair had not been planning on broaching this topic tonight, or possibly ever, but it felt so natural speaking to her that he seemed to have wandered into it quite by accident.

“Oh? What line of work was he in?” Celia asked carefully.

“You know, I’ve never fully understood it. Haven’t tried to, if I’m honest. You might have heard of um…” He hesitated then choked out the words: “Theirin Industries? My father was Maric Theirin.” Celia’s mouth dropped open and she swivelled her head slowly to face him fully. Alistair shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “You look like one of those fairground clown head games. I’m going to throw a ping pong ball at you in a minute, see if I might win a prize.”

She composed herself slightly, shutting her mouth though her eyes were still wide. “Sorry Alistair, I’m just a bit surprised.”

“Are you?” he said imitating her shock. “Couldn’t tell. You’re just too impassive, quite impossible to read.”

“And you’re heir to the biggest technological empire in Fereldan and this is the first time you’ve mentioned it: forgive me but frankly I think I’m underreacting, if anything.” Her voice was measured but her hand fluttered over her throat nervously before she let it fall into her lap.

“I’m not an _heir_. Maker! I’m just some _nobody_. I’m cut out in every way possible. Or I was. Now I don’t know what is going on.” Something seemed to occur to Celia and she cringed. “What?”

“When we were on the ferry…I think I actually pointed out the Theirin Industries skyscraper to you,” she said with chagrined realisation. “You might have mentioned it then.”

“I guess part of me liked you not knowing,” he admitted and she looked at him inquiringly. “Theirin Industries, my father…they come with their own reputations. I know they do. And not necessarily good ones. I didn’t want you to think of me as - I just wanted you to see me as me.”

“I do. And I promise this doesn’t change anything. Not for me,” Celia told him, with quick, reassuring certainty.

“Then you’re not hurt that I failed to mention my ‘parentage’ sooner?” he asked, making air quotes.

“Hurt? No! And no wonder you feel so overwhelmed about all this. Theirin Industries…”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“It gets more overwhelming,” he told her and Celia concentrated as Alistair explained in a rush everything from Anora’s call to Eamon’s advice, including his uncle’s terrifying and lofty aspirations for him to advance through the company heirarchy. “I can’t tell what you’re thinking,” he said finally. She had looked away while he was speaking, and was staring off into the hedge, chewing on the straw from her long since finished drink.

“What I’m thinking about? It’s just…you in a suit every day,” she let out a little snort.

“Hey! I look pretty good in a suit,” he told her.

“I’ll bet you do,” she readily agreed much to his surprise, giving him a sideways look. She laughed at his alarm and only seemed more entertained when he stuttered and struggled to think of a witty rejoinder. Celia took mercy on him, growing serious once more. “I don’t know a lot about the corporate world but I get the impression they usually have some kind of agenda.”

“If they’re after my money they’re going to be in for a bit of a nasty shock.”

“If your brother wanted to reconcile with you then wouldn’t he have contacted you personally? Not via his Personal Assistant?”

“I don’t know: maybe that’s just how they do things. It may seem impersonal but perhaps it’s normal for CEOs of major companies,” Alistair shrugged. “I guess Eamon is right and I should go and see at least.”

“But do you _want_ to go?”

“Not in the slightest,” he said flatly.

“Did you tell Eamon that?”

“Several times. But as I said: he is very keen for me to get in there and seize any opportunity to…snatch the crown or whatever.”

“Huh,” Celia said in an ambiguous way that immediately made Alistair suspect she was holding back something she wanted to say. She tapped her chin with the straw a couple of times before resuming her thoughtful chewing.

“What do you think I should do?” he asked but she gave him a reluctant look so he rephrased the question: “If you were in my position, what would you do?”

“I’d go, but that doesn’t mean you should.”

Alistair stretched his arms out in front of him. “That makes sense: you’d waltz in there and know exactly what to say, instead of me blundering about like a fool.”

“Alistair,” she said in soft reprimand. “You give me too much credit and yourself far too little. I don’t know the first thing about tech companies but I’d go because I would be too curious not to. That doesn’t mean it would end well. If you decide upon going it should be for your own reasons.”

“As opposed to…?”

She chomped her straw particularly ferociously a few times. “Letting yourself become a prop for some marketing campaign for the company say. Or as a puppet for your uncle to manipulate.”

Alistair was silent for a beat. “What do you mean by that last one?” he asked with genuine confusion. He was completely baffled as to how she had she got such a notion out of anything he had said.

She put her mangled straw back in her glass. “Does Eamon want you to have a chance at running the company, or does he want to run the company _through you_? He might be pushing this because he views you as a means to an end.”

“A means to an end? What end?” Alistair asked, flabbergasted.

“Some people are just out for themselves Alistair. Maybe his ambition for you is really just ambition for himself,” she told him matter-of-factly.

Alistair was taken aback. Of all the words he would have picked to describe Celia, cynical wasn’t one of them. Maybe this was what Wynne had meant when she said Celia seemed more ‘worldly’ than he was. 

“Eamon’s not like that. He just wants to help me,” Alistair said automatically, but even as the words left his mouth, he realised he wasn’t one hundred percent sure they were true. Eamon was the businessman, not him. Eamon was the one who always spoke about his father with admiration and, Alistair realised belatedly, something that might have been jealousy.

But even as he considered this, Celia relented, titling her head in respectful surrender. “I’m sure you’re right: I don’t know your uncle and it wasn’t my intention to accuse him of anything.I’m just interpreting this as best I can from what you’re saying.”

“Noted. I appreciate your input. Genuinely. I’m still trying to get my head around so much of this.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m entirely against it.”

“But that means you’re at least partially against it?”

Celia swirled her straw thoughtfully around her empty glass. “If you think it’s the right thing to do, then meet with your brother and see what he has to say. If he actually wants you to be a part of the company and contribute…Well, you do have a lot to offer.” He snorted at this and she silenced him with a sharp look that reminded him of some of his strictest teachers at school. “If they truly value you for your strengths then maybe…I don’t know Alistair. It’s your family so I really can’t say.”

Alistair was stunned silent momentarily by her phrasing. “Yeah, they are my family I guess.”

“Have you ever met your brother before this?”

“Not yet.”

“So start there. Then…”

“And then what?”

“Then see what you want,” she said simply.

“What I want?” Alistair let out a laugh. “Why do you make that sound so easy?”

“Because it is.” He was silent for a long time, staring at the table. “Don’t you ever ask yourself that question? What do you want to do Alistair? To keep working at Warden Watch?”

Alistair stumbled over his answer uncertainly. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“What did you want to be when you were a kid?”

Alistair flinched slightly and hoped Celia wouldn’t notice. He knew the answer to that question right away but instead replied with, “A pirate.”

Celia laughed. “Maker, Alistair be serious! Did you never give any thought towards a dream career?”

“Isn’t being a pirate kind of a dream career? I mean the boat, the hat, the parrot…all sounds pretty good to me.”

“I can see you in the hat,” she told him, fighting back a smile.

“Right!?” he replied, pleased with himself.

“But be realistic for a second. Please.”

“I am being realistic. Unless you’re suggesting I…missed the boat?” She laughed, clearly despite herself, and picked up a chip to throw at him. He deflected it and they both laughed harder. For a moment he thought he had actually distracted her from the topic at hand. But he should have known better: Celia wasn’t going to let this drop.

“Whatever it was you wanted to do, I’m not going to laugh at you for it.”

“Why would you say that?” Alistair asked, perplexed by the statement.

“I don’t know. I thought you might be embarrassed about it? I saw your face when I first asked.”

“And?”

“You looked pained. Like you’d just touched a hot pan.”

“You’re imagining things. Must be working too hard.”

“I _know_ there’s something. Come on: I’m just curious Alistair.”

“Curious? You? Never,” he said drily.

She shrugged unapologetically. “I can’t help it. You should know me well enough by now.”

“That’s fair,” he said and sighed. “Okay.”

“Okay?” she repeated, apparently surprised to have convinced him despite her own persistence.

Alistair picked up a bottle cap, turning it over in his hands and examining it from every angle. “Despite the impression I’ve probably given, I didn’t hate _every_ subject at school. I had this one great teacher: Mr Otto. Or just Otto actually. He took us for Phys Ed.” He smiled a little, just recalling him.

“Why was he different?”

“He was the one teacher at Hessarian’s who didn’t think I was a complete lost cause. PE was the only thing I was halfway good at and I think he knew I was – he always got me to help out with demonstrations and setting up equipment, stuff like that. I really needed that: to feel useful. And it wasn’t just me either. He never pushed anyone too hard or made anyone feel bad for trying, even the kids who didn’t like sport. He made it fun, no one got left out. That, and we do some open days at the football club with kids from the area and it’s always…really good,” he finished lamely. ‘Really good’ was putting it lightly: the open days were one of his highlights of the year and he always made a personal mission out of getting the nervous looking kids on the sidelines involved with gentle humour and a lot of patience.

“And so you thought about teaching PE too?” Celia said, a look of dawning understanding spreading across her face.

“Fleetingly.”

“Only fleetingly? Alistair: you’d be fantastic at it,” Celia gushed. “It’s honestly so easy to imagine. You’d be so contagiously enthusiastic and I know you’d really care about getting the best out of every student. Oh, you’d be amazing.” He tossed the bottlecap back onto the table apathetically and didn’t reply. He didn’t even look at her. “Why did you change your mind about it?” she asked tentatively after a long silence.

“Even to be a PE teacher, I know it’s more than just enjoying sport and knowing which end of a cricket bat to hold. There’s all sorts of tests and assignments: I’d never be able to get through it.”

“I don’t see why not” she said quickly and Alistair groaned uncomfortably and tilted his head back towards the sky.

“Celia,” he said in a strained voice. “I’m rubbish at any kind of schoolwork. I just don’t have the brain capacity or patience for it,” he said, gesturing broadly around his head.

“Alistair, you only _play_ at being a fool. I know you do.”

“Well, I’m smart enough to know my limits. And my limits do not include tertiary education.”

“Have you ever tried? Did you apply?”

“Life is full of enough disappointments as is. Do you want to me to suffer?”

“No, I want you to be happy. I really do,” she said with earnestness that he found grating under the circumstances.

“I _am_ happy.”

“Are you? Doing this?”

“I like my job,” he said defensively then added with less conviction: “It’s steady employment.”

“I didn’t mean – It just seems like you have so much potential.”

“What potential? I goofed off at school. I never got even close to the marks I would have needed for University.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said confidently. “You graduated and that’s all they would be interested in at this point.”

Alistair hesitated, an embarrassed prickling sensation rising up his neck. “Actually, I didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Graduate. From Secondary School.” Celia looked at him in wordless astonishment, confirming why he had failed to ever mention this to her previously. He wasn’t ashamed: he’d made his peace with it, but he still found it hard to continue speaking. “I wasn’t doing well, and I don’t mean just my grades. I was unhappy. I never fit in there. Duncan knew. He was one of the only people that truly knew the extent of how bad it…He was there a while, installing a new alarm system for the school. I guess he felt sorry for me because he offered me a job. Negotiated it all with Eamon too, convinced him somehow and pulled me out early. So I never graduated, and it was the best thing that had happened in my life up to that point.”

He was finding her reaction difficult to read. She crossed one leg over the other, swapped them back again, then took a moment to rearrange the table for no apparent reason: straightening the straw, pulling her empty glass closer, pushing away the finished bowl of dip, lifting up her phone, putting it down again slightly to the right. “It doesn’t make a difference,” she finally said.

Alistair scoffed. “You just made it sound like it was the only thing that mattered? Now you’re trying to tell me it’s not relevant?”

“School was eons ago,” she said with forced casualness.

“I’m not that old.”

“Exactly. Still time to do something different with your life. If you want to. Your work experience and the football club open days would all count in an application. There are so many other ways into tertiary study. Trust me. All I do is hang out at Universities so I should know,” she told him primly. “And there might even be other ways to get qualified. Have you ever looked into it?”

Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose. Why wouldn’t she just let it drop? “Why are you so set on this?”

“Why aren’t you?”

“Just because libraries and endless study is what you want day in day out, doesn’t mean that it’s what everyone aspires to.”

“You’re the one who said you wanted to be a Phys Ed teacher,” she snipped. “Study may or may not be involved in the process.”

“I said I wanted to teach PE once! Briefly! When I was a kid!” Alistair half-yelled then quickly lowered his voice. “I don’t even understand why I wanted to do it.”

“To help other kids like Mr. Otto helped you? To make them feel included and worthwhile and let them have some fun for a change? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

He frowned at her. “And now you’re trying to psychoanalyse me? Does your degree in reading a lot of musty old books qualify you for that?” It wasn’t his finest comeback, Alistair could admit that, but his back was against a wall.

She sighed and began to gather her hair back from her face, fastening it roughly into a low ponytail with an elastic from around her wrist. “Obviously not. I’m sorry to be so pushy. I don’t care what you do. Not really,” she told him in a dismissive tone.

“Noted.”

“Okay. Good.” She appeared to stare off into space, but a few moments later was drumming her fingers on the table with mounting agitation. Not long after, her leg began to jiggle. Alistair ground his teeth in agitation.

“You may as well spit it out,” Alistair told her. “I can see you have something else to say.”

“I just wanted to emphasise that it - studying to be a PE teacher, _is_ an option. I think you tell yourself that you can’t. You let yourself believe that all these outside forces are conspiring going: ‘no, you can’t – you’re not allowed to Alistair’. But I think you’d be fantastic, if you’d only give it a go. The only thing in your way now is you _choosing_ to not pursue it, or whatever else you want. You don’t have to let yourself be a chess piece shuffled around by your uncle, or your brother or whoever. That whole attitude is the easy way out because it means you never have to try. Instead you can just sit around, waiting for someone to tell you what to do. But you deserve better.” She took an obvious, much needed breath and finished with a curt: “That’s all.”

“Better?” Alistair shook his head, processing her outburst. “I’m so sorry my job isn’t respectable enough for you. But then I’m sure nothing in my life is up to your exacting, Highever standards.” He felt slightly nauseated, self-conscious and angry all at the same time.

She gave him a frosty look. “That is _not_ what I’m saying. Not at all.”

“Well from over here it sounds a lot like that’s what you’re saying. It sounds like you think my life is so utterly rubbish that I couldn’t possibly be satisfied with it.”

“If that is how you are determined to take it then I don’t know what else to say.”

“You don’t know what to say?” he said with artificial elation. “There’s a refreshing change: a minute ago you had no problem laying into me. At length. I thought you ‘saying things’ would never end.”

Celia regarded him with unmistakable aloofness. “I realise I’ve overstepped. But I was only telling you what I would tell a friend.”

“And these friends actually choose to stick around after they get this from you? Incredible.”

Celia stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the cobblestones. “I think it’s time for me to leave.” She scrabbled briefly in her purse and dropped a random handful of notes and coins onto the table without counting them and began to walk away.

“Your flat is that way,” Alistair told her, pointing in the opposite direction.

“I’m going back to the library.”

“But you have my-” he began.

Celia turned back and threw his access badge onto the table with such force that it skidded off and fell onto the paving stones. She didn’t look at him as she stormed away. It was clear she did not want him to follow.

* * *

It had been a long weekend. Or rather, it had been a normal length weekend but to Alistair it felt like a lifetime. He was fractious. He couldn’t settle. He kept missing passes to him at football and probably singlehandedly lost them the game. Or so it felt. He zoned out watching TV and had no idea of the plot. He washed his hair at least three times because standing in the shower in a daze, he couldn’t remember if he had shampooed it yet.

As the long, empty Sunday afternoon stretched before him, he decided to call on Wynne. Perhaps a friendly face would make him feel better.

But he had barely sat down when she was asking about the one topic he didn’t want to venture near.

“And how is Celia? Coping okay? There has been a recent surge of talk about her,” Wynne began. If she noticed him cringing, she ignored it.

“Talk? Didn’t realise she was so famous,” he said without enthusiasm.

“I don’t mean headlining news: in academic circles.”

“Good for her then,” Alistair said glibly as he accidentally dropped an entire digestive biscuit into his cup of tea. He prodded it with his spoon a few times in a half-hearted recovery attempt but it dissolved into chunks.

“I think you already know that it isn’t a good thing. I’m not sure why you’re pretending that you don’t.” Alistair let out a long sigh in response. “Apparently there have been some anonymous letters submitted asking that her grant be revoked: accusations of nepotism and demands that Highever University disassociate themselves from her.”

Abandoning his disastrous attempt to retrieve the biscuit, Alistair looked up at Wynne in confusion. “Disassociate from her how? How would a University do that? Burn her degree?”

“Some dissenters, a very small minority of people I should imagine, want Highever University to make a public statement condemning her for her research.”

“Would they?” Alistair asked with alarm.

“Highly unlikely,” Wynne said assuredly. “In fact, they like a little controversy, if it keeps them relevant.”

“And what about nepotism?”

Wynne gave him a narrow look. “Hasn’t Celia already spoken to you about this?”

“Honestly she’s a bit cagey about it all. I don’t think she likes the fuss.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t continue then.”

“Oh come on Wynne. It’s clearly not a secret,” he wheedled.

Wynne relented. “There is a suggestion that her research was only chosen to receive funding because of her father’s reputation and legacy at the University. Untrue naturally: the judging process is very rigorous. Out of curiosity, I read the proposals and of all the applicants, Celia’s was the clear standout.”

“Of course it was,” he said glumly then cleared his throat as Wynne looked at him enquiringly. “She’s good at everything she does,” he added by way of explanation.

“And how is that cause for you looking so forlorn. Usually you light up at any mention of her.”

“On Friday we had a bit of a…” he flapped a hand.

“And what does this mean precisely?” Wynne asked, imitating his flapping.

“Exactly what I said,” Alistair told her, making the gesture again. Wynne only hummed in an infuriating, knowing way in response. “Don’t,” he warned her.

“Don’t what?”

“Think whatever thoughts you’re thinking.”

“That a falling out must be difficult, given how very close you’ve become and how rapidly it has all happened?”

“Yes. Those thoughts.”

“Practically joined at the hip,” Wynne continued.

“I’m really not in the mood.”

“I’m finding it very hard to imagine what could have possibly come between you, inseparable as you have been up to now.”

“She was just being pushy,” Alistair finally explained, looking down at his cup, soggy chunks of biscuit still floating on the surface of his tea. He drank anyway.

“And that’s why you’re so grouchy this afternoon? Because she was being pushy?”

“No. I’m grouchy because she was right,” Alistair admitted.

“Did you tell her that?”

“Not yet. I still need to think.”

“About what?”

“Never you mind,” he said. He expected her to ask, but instead she just sipped her tea. “Do you think I should do more study? Do you think I would get into Higher Education if I applied?”

Wynne looked briefly taken aback by the change in direction of the conversation. “Alistair: I believe you could do anything you set your mind to if you cared about it enough. Why do you ask?”

“Something Celia said,” he mumbled.

* * *

It was Monday morning and perhaps unsurprisingly, Celia and Alistair did not travel to the library together. Celia sent him a brief message informing him she was already there while he was still getting ready: _‘At library’_. Not even a grammatically complete sentence. He had finished brushing his teeth, staring down at it dejectedly.

When he got off the train, Alistair went to their usual morning coffee shop. While he waited in the queue, he pulled out his phone to try and glean any extra information from the message he might have missed the first twenty times he looked at it. ‘ _At library’_ was all it still said disappointingly, and apart from being very curt, it was fairly devoid of any clues as to her overall mood.

When he reached the counter, the regular barista greeted him by name. “Hey Alistair! My dude. My bro! How’s it hanging buddy? Your girl already grabbed your regular today! Or are you back for a second? Long night was it? Monday! Ugh! Like totally sooo rough am I right?” he asked while Alistair stammered and failed to respond properly to a single part of that running dialogue.

“W-what? Who?”

“Your girlfriend. Celia. Got your regular brew bro. Specifically said it was for you.” The barista laughed at Alistair’s apparent shock. “Unless she is cheating on you with someone else called Alistair who drinks the exact same coffee. You’ve gotta cut down on the number of sugars in it by the way man: they just ain’t good for you,” he teased.

“Yeah sounds like me. Guess she did,” Alistair said, astonished and momentarily far too staggered by the assumption that he and Celia were dating to be able to correct it.

“Woah. You really need that caffeine all up in your veins ASAP buddy. You are looking like totally spaced out _as_.”

Conscious of the growing queue of impatient commuters and grumpy office workers behind him, Alistair leaned forward and asked as quietly as he could over the screaming milk steamer: “How did she seem?”

“Whaddaya mean?” the barista asked with good natured enthusiasm.

“Celia. Was she a bit…” Alistair shook his head and cut to the chase. “Did she seem like she was in a bad mood?”

“Ooooh shit,” the barista said, as sagely as anyone could. “Is that what’s going on? Trouble in paradise eh?” He winked and Alistair shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. “She seemed totally a-okay at first. But she did ask if you had been in this AM and I said nah dudette, and that it was totally whacko seeing her on her own actually because you two are like, always _so_ together. And when I said this she was all…” He let out a sigh so big that his whole body rose and fell. “And she was like: yeah it feels weird for me too man. And I was like, woah what’s eating at you little lady? And she was like, just tired ya hear me? And I was all: mate seems like more than that. And she was like I’m such a fuck up and a trash human and I was like WOAH! Don’t be beating on yourself at the crack of dawn in my café! None of that alright? You’re doing your best and she was like…” He sighed demonstratively again. “Then she just said yeah brother, sweet as, hit me up with a couple of bean brews. One for me and one for Alistair. And I was like: his regular because that kid takes a wild amount of sugar and she was like yeah just make it like he usually has it so I did. Or something like that: mightn’t have been her exact words ya know?”

Alistair blinked, his brain a step behind as it translated. “Are you actually ordering anything? I have an eight o’clock meeting,” a man behind him asked tetchily.

“No um…” Alistair told him apologetically, edging away from the counter. “I’ll go and…Yeah. Thanks for everything,” Alistair called to the barista, who gave him a thumbs up as he fled the coffee shop yelling encouragingly:

"Peace out bro! Go find that girl!"

Alistair burst onto the street, marvelling at these revelations as a feeling of lightness came over him. She had bought him a coffee. And she must have known he would be told as much when he went in to do the same. People didn’t buy people they hate coffees, right?

He made one detour then walked quickly to the library. It was a true demonstration of willpower that he resisted the urge to run.

Celia had placed his coffee at his usual spot at the table: opposite her but a couple of chairs up. A spot that she respectfully kept her papers from flooding into. He couldn’t tell if she was trying to ignore him, or genuinely deeply focused on her work, but she only looked up when he loudly plonked the box with the pastries in front of her.

“For you,” he told her.

It took her a moment to recover from her initial surprise. “You didn’t need to bring me food. It isn’t really part of your job description,” her tone was still defensive.

“I’m a body guard. I’m guarding your body against starvation.”

“I see.” she was confused, but he could see the coldness of her demeanour melt a little as she stared at the ornately decorated bakery box. “Did you go to that bakery? The one that sells those eclairs?”

“Yeah. I wanted a peace offering and I couldn’t find an olive tree.” Celia looked up tentatively, her brows furrowing slightly. “You see I’ve had a really rubbish couple of days worrying about how I might have screwed things up by being a jerk to someone I care about.”

Celia let out a breathy laugh. “Is that so? Strangely I was upset over something really similar this weekend after I was absolutely awful to a friend. The only friend I have in Denerim actually. Isn’t that so odd?”

“Yeah? What a weird coincidence,” Alistair said, grinning properly now as relief washed over him. He might have jumped for joy and clicked his heels together but he was holding himself back.

“I got you a coffee,” she said, another tentative smile forming. “Coffee and pastries. We planned that well.”

“We make a good couple,” he said then abruptly caught himself. “I mean pair. Team. I didn’t mean – I just meant to say-”

She waved a hand casually but Alistair could have sworn she had coloured a little. “I know what you meant.” She cleared her throat and looked earnestly at him. “I wasn’t sure if I would be seeing someone else walking through that door today. It was a bit of a nervous wait.”

“Why?”

“I thought you might have asked for a transfer from this role after I – Alistair I’m so sorry: I was beastly towards you. I hate that I might have left you feeling like there is anything wrong with who you are. Or made you think that I might believe that. It just isn't true!” she implored with the last words coming out in an ardent gush.

“Don’t be sorry! I came here planning to apologise to you!” he said incredulously, and took the lid off the box of pastries, nudging it towards her to emphasise his point.

She shook her head frantically. “After the way I spoke to you and…I was so far out of line. I can’t keep my big mouth shut. It was arrogant of me to assume I know better, and to presume I’m entitled any kind of opinion about your life.”

“To be fair I was pretty explicitly inviting you to have an opinion about my life.”

“But it’s completely ignorant of me to act as if everyone has the same support network and resources I’ve had all my life. Things clearly haven’t been easy for you –” she stopped short and looked thoughtfully at him. “And sometimes I forget we haven’t known each other…forever.”

“I know what you mean. It feels like we have.” Reassured that they were on less rocky ground, he finally took his seat at the table.

“We kind of went from zero to…” she said, raising a flattened hand as high as she could up an imaginary scale.

“I don’t mind being at…” he said, mimicking her gesture. “I like it up here.”

“It’s been bothering me actually. I mean, even before this,” she said waving her hand over the pastries and Alistair assumed she meant their argument. “Could we- Can we stay in touch once I go? Back to Highever? Do you think we will?”

“Definitely,” he said with immediate confidence. “You know I have a collection of about ten thousand photos of dogs I’ve met on my phone. I’ll send you one every day so you can’t forget me.”

“I wouldn’t forget you,” she said quickly. They smiled at each other then she looked down pointedly at an open book at the same time he felt the pressing need to check on the ceiling.

After a moment, Alistair pointed to the pastries again. “These aren’t just an apology. I wanted to thank you actually,” he told her.

She gawped at him. “Thank me? For what? Being judgemental? Condescending to you?”

“For being the first person to ever think I could... I only reacted so badly because I’m not used to…it.” _‘People believing in me,’_ Alistair thought but couldn’t bring himself to utter the words.

Celia looked appalled and waved her arms as if to ward him back. “Seriously: don’t listen to me. I’m begging you not to. I was too hard on you. It wasn’t my place.”

“Maybe I need it. I just…I was confused to even be having the conversation. I keep telling you things. I don’t mean to, but I do.”

“Sorry?” Celia said, sounding baffled.

“I talk so much nonsense around you.” Alistair laughed with resignation.

“You mean I bully information out of you,” she said with genuine regret in her tone.

“I have a choice; you’re not torturing it out of me and you’re a good listener.”

She let out a groan and shook her head. “I’m not a good listener. I’m just good at bossing you around and telling you how to live your life.”

“Celia. It’s okay.”

“I should have been more supportive about you seeing your brother. It might be a great opportunity and I jumped to the worst possible conclusion.”

“You were right in saying that it might not be. I’m not by any means convinced it will be all sunshine and rainbows and dancing around a maypole.”

“There is managing expectations and then there is outright cynicism.”

Alistair laughed. “Yeah your outlook was pretty bleak alright.”

“Would you forgive me if I told you it was only because I hate the thought of you getting hurt?”

“There is nothing to-” she raised a hand to stop him.

“Just say yes then. Please?” she asked a little desperately.

He relented. “Then yes: I forgive you,” he said, mostly sincerely and with just a hint of amusement at her insistence.

Her shoulders sagged with obvious relief. “Thank you,” she said, then looked at him and smiled in that soft way that always made his stomach do backflips. “It was nice. You trying to get me to take a break from my work. That was really nice of you.”

“Even though it didn’t end so well?”

She shook her head. “I still appreciated it. And I needed it. Sometimes I feel like I’m going absolutely mad. I think about this all day, all night,” she gestured at her laptop. “I try to fall asleep but I keep reaching for my phone to make notes because I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m so afraid I’ll forget something crucial. Or I have this irrational fear that if I stop working on it, I won’t be able to start again. So I have to think about it constantly,” she looked up the ceiling and ran her fingers through her hair a few times, loosely tousling it over her shoulders.

“You’re going to drive yourself around the bend. You can’t keep on like this.”

“I know. Sometimes I want to stop thinking about it and I _can’t_. I get so frustrated.”

“And I gave you something else to be frustrated about. Lucky you,” he said sarcastically and she laughed.

“I didn’t mean that. You snap me out of it, Alistair. Being around you makes me feel human again. Just a little bit,” she pinched her fingers together.

“I do my best. I’m good at being a distraction: my teachers were constantly scolding me for it.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“And let me guess: you never got in trouble once.” She glared at him and grabbed a pecan plait from the pastry box. “Never so much as yawned in class I bet.”

She ate the corner of the pastry thoughtfully. “Actually, I did get in trouble once.”

“No you didn’t. What for? Being too smart?”

“We were meant to be watching a film as a reward on the last day of term and I pretended to be sick so I could get on with my Summer School prep. They caught me studying in the nurse’s office and sent a note to my parents for lying and wasting staff resources.” Alistair let out and audible groan and rolled his eyes. Celia took another bite of pastry and sipped her coffee smugly. “I may actually eat all of these, just so you know. They’re amazing”

“You’re welcome to. In fact, give it a go. But I’m going to sit here and watch.”

She pulled a face. “Is that something you’re into?”

“Just curious to see if you can actually do it.”

“If you’re trying to trigger something competitive in me, know it’s nearly working.”

“Only nearly? Can’t blame me for trying.”

She made a point of taking a massive bite and they both laughed, her covering her mouth as she accidentally sprayed some crumbs across the table which only made them laugh harder.

He’d missed her. It had only been one weekend and technically she had been next door to him for most of that. But still, he had really missed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this was written where the scene of them making up wasn't until next chapter and I just couldn't live with the guilt. Dramatic tension be damned: apparently I am too weak ha.


	9. Calm and Composed

“You’re really going to take as long as usual?” Cullen asked. He was rubbing his hair with a towel and seemed surprised to find Alistair still dissecting the game with some teammates by the lockers. Their conversation interrupted, the other stragglers peeled off to shower, leaving them alone as Alistair gave Cullen an incredulous look.

“I mean, by the very definition of ‘usual’, your own choice of word, you should be expecting it by now,” he told his friend, making no move to get organised and leaning casually against the lockers with a hand on his hip, just to annoy him further.

Unperturbed, Cullen continued to rub his hair. “I only thought you would be more eager to see Celia.”

“I won’t see her. Not until Monday anyway, so why rush now? I might be slow to get ready but it has never taken me _days_ before, come on,” Alistair let out a confused laugh. It wasn’t like Cullen to tease in this way, or to try and bait someone. He was unsure of the point his friend was trying to make. Had Leliana put him up to something again?

“I can only assume she’s waiting for you.”

“Waiting? She’s probably eighteen chapters into a new book and has forgotten the rest of the world exists, me included.”

Cullen threw his towel towards the laundry hamper. It went in of course, Alistair noted with an eye-roll. “I don’t think she came here to read. She was watching the game.”

“What game?”

Cullen looked at him like he was devoid of a brain. Which he was, clearly. “If you’re making a joke Alistair then I’m afraid I don’t follow. Our game. Just now.”

A thrill of panic coursed through Alistair and made every hair feel as if it was standing on end. “She’s _here_? Celia? Here!?”

“Not in the locker room as far as I’m aware, but she was in the crowd about half an hour ago. How did you not see her? I’ve only seen a photo of her once and I recognised her. The stands were mostly empty and she was right at the front.”

Alistair leapt into action, trying to pull his shirt off and unlace his boots at the same time, staggering and nearly falling in the process. “I never look at the crowd. It makes me nervous,” he told Cullen, his voice muffled by the fabric of the shirt. “Thank the Maker I _didn’t_. I would have been sure to make a fool of myself if I’d known...” He finally ripped his shirt off and hurled it at his gym bag, missing by a good couple of metres. “Cullen, did I play well? Please tell me I played well?” he asked with unconcealed desperation. “Did I do anything really obviously dumb? I can’t remember! Did I ever even touch the ball?”

“Settle down Alistair,” Cullen told him firmly. “You had an excellent game. Our defence saved the match for us tonight, largely thanks to you.” Cullen never offered praise without cause so this had some weight to it and Alistair calmed slightly. He finally realised he was going to have to sit down to get his shoes off and did so.

He showered quickly, trying to compose his thoughts which were seesawing between excitement at her being there (any situation was improved by Celia’s presence) and horror (what if he _had_ played really badly and she had seen it? What if her entire opinion of him somehow hinged on how good he was at football and he had blown his shot?) He wondered what had inspired her to attend. She would have known when the game was: he must have talked about it. But she never mentioned coming along, or even wanting to. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Good mostly, but also that it seemed _significant_ in a way that was a) overwhelming and b) probably entirely irrational and blown out of proportion in his own mind.

Alistair was possibly a little dehydrated, and the heat of the shower combined with his racing, panicked thoughts made him feel lightheaded. He pulled on a fresh change of clothes and scrubbed at his hair with his towel unenthusiastically. Cullen was still there when he emerged, though very close to leaving judging by the way he had his bag slung over his shoulder.

“Why do you think she came?” Alistair asked his friend, his voice coming out faint and a little apprehensive.

Cullen’s brow furrowed. “Are you upset? I thought you liked her?” he asked without comprehension as he slowly lowered his bag again.

“Just disturbed by the narrow miss I had with a perfect opportunity to look like a fool in front of her.”

Cullen’s stare was assessing and clinical. “You’re really worried about her opinion on the specifics of your game performance? Does she even know anything about football?”

Alistair let out a long exhale, searching about for where he had tossed his kit shirt earlier and finally spotting it on the floor. “Probably not,” he admitted, walking to fetch it. “But you never know what stupidity I might have exhibited and –” Still turning his head to speak to Cullen, Alistair never got the chance to finish his sentence. Focused on his shirt, he had overlooked a waterbottle that had been dropped on the ground by one of his teammates. It was one of those metal, re-usable ones, and as his foot made contact, it went shooting out from underneath him. He went flailing forwards, managed an ungainly leap over the bench, but with so much momentum propelling him, he lurched forwards and hit his face against a locker. Hard. Stunned and blinded by an onslaught of prickling bright lights, Alistair staggered backwards, clutching his nose.

“Maker give me strength,” Cullen cursed, and was at his side in an instant, trying to prise Alistair’s hands away from his face to see the damage. When he was finally successful, Cullen inhaled with a sharp hiss through his teeth. Alistair didn’t need to ask: he could already feel the warm blood gushing down his front, staining his white t-shirt.

Alistair’s eyes were watering with pain and he hastily covered his face again, trying to cup his hands around the worst of the dripping blood. “Ow,” he said softly then again, “OW!” as real pain began to register. The shock had neutralised it for a moment and now it was beginning to hit him in full force. “Owww,” he whined again for good measure.

Never one to dither in a crisis, Cullen heaved both of their bags onto his shoulders and grabbed a clean towel. He shoved it at Alistair to help him stem the flow of blood and began to pull him towards the door. They didn’t have long to walk before they were intercepted by a waiting Celia. Most of the crowd must have filtered out already but she was sitting patiently, perched on a bench and reading a book. Looking up at their approach, she shoved her book hastily into her bag, then belatedly registered the gory scene with wide-eyed horror.

“Alistair!” she cried. Ridiculously, Alistair responded with a casual wave, as if hoping she might not notice the disastrous state he was in. Cullen’s hand was on his shoulder, steering him along the path towards the carpark as Celia rushed to join them. The closer she got however, the more she slowed down, until finally she pulled up short, her face ashen. A visible shudder ran up her body then she stiffened.

“Don’t tell me…” Cullen began, as Celia slumped to one side, managing to put a hand on the wall and brace herself. “I think she’s going to pass out,” Cullen announced neutrally.

“I’m not,” Celia said, but her voice was very faint. “Andraste…There is so much blood,” she managed, then gagged slightly.

Worried, Alistair tried to move towards her But Cullen gripped his shoulder and held him in place. “I don’t think that will help her.”

“Stay back,” Celia warned him. “I just need to…whew.” She straightened, fanned herself with her hand and pointedly avoided looking at Alistair. “I’m not great with…oh Maker…but it’s just that it’s _everywhere_.” Now Alistair remembered their phone conversation when he was in Redcliffe: she had told him she was afraid of blood. It left him feeling bizarrely guilty for exposing her to this, though it was hardly by choice.

“Alistair. We have to keep moving,” Cullen insisted, as Celia continued to take deep breaths and sway on the spot.

Alistair rolled his shoulder in protest, trying to shrug off Cullen’s grip. “No,” he said, his voice barely audible from under the towel.

“He’s right: I don’t want to hold you up,” Celia said. “Are you going to get help?”

“Hospital. I think it’s broken,” Cullen told her. Celia instinctively turned to Alistair with a deeply concerned expression and her face immediately went a shade paler. She put a hand over her eyes and whimpered.

Cullen gave Alistair a shove but Alistair stood his ground, gesturing frantically at Celia with his free hand. Cullen groaned. “Can at least one of you keep it together for just five minutes?”

“I can. I am,” Celia said, still covering her eyes with her hand and not sounding even remotely convincing.

Cullen tried again to propel Alistair forward but Alistair ignored his efforts and went on looking pointedly at Celia. “He wants to know you’re alright.” Cullen told her.

“I’m fine,” she lowered her hand and forced a smile. “I’ll just go home and have a glass of water. The underground isn’t far…” Alistair shook his head urgently even though it _hurt_. He was having visions of her fainting right off the platform into the path of an oncoming train. Or collapsing in the street and being robbed. Or being so woozy she took the wrong line and got lost and ended up wandering darkened alleys in a dodgy part of the city as night fell and the temperature dropped. He pointed at Cullen, then he pointed at Celia. When Cullen frowned at him, he did it again.

But it was not a lack of comprehension that was making Cullen frown. “No. The bleeding should have slowed by now: I need to take you straight to the hospital.” Alistair jabbed a finger at him again emphatically. “I can’t give her a lift home first Alistair.” In response, Alistair put his free hand on his hip and adopted a defiant stance. Cullen turned to Celia. “You,” her barked at her. She looked up at him in surprise. “My car is in section E3 of the car park. Head that way directly. We’ll be behind you and I’ll watch your progress. When you near my car, I’ll unlock it and you’ll see the lights. Don’t wait for us: just get in the front seat. Stare straight ahead. I’ll put Alistair in the back. Don’t look at him. Don’t even think about him. We’re going to the hospital. Try not to faint on the way.”

They were all largely silent in the car, Cullen bristling with the inconvenience of it all. “What happened to you Alistair? Did you get into a fight?” Celia asked over her shoulder.

“Eyes up front,” Cullen reminded her. “Lean forward Alistair. Use the towel and don’t drip on the seat.”

In addition to being muffled by the towel, Alistair’s voice sounded like he had the world’s worst head cold. “I gop innoo a fipe wiff a lockah,” he managed in answer to Celia’s question.

“What?” she asked.

“With a locker,” Cullen translated.

“I still don’t understand,” she said, looking to Cullen for clarification.

“He said he got into a fight with a locker.”

“Oh,” Celia said, as if that explained it perfectly. “I’m sorry but who are you?”

“Cullen.”

“I’m Celia,” she said by way of introduction. “I’m in Denerim working on –”

“I know who you are,” Cullen said bluntly, cutting her explanation short.

Alistair tried hard to think of a way to convey the message ‘be nice’ to Cullen without Celia noticing, but suddenly Cullen had to brake hard when a car swerved into the lane in front of him without indicating. Alistair bashed his tender face excruciatingly into his own hand and let out a yelp of pain. Celia let out a little shriek, it seemed more in response to Alistair than the dangerous driver. “Uhm fimb,” he reassured her, though his eyes were watering again.

Apparently Alistair wasn’t enough of an authority on his own wellbeing in that moment as Celia asked Cullen: “Is it bad? Is it really bad?” with all the gravity of: ‘is it terminal?’

“Head wounds always bleed a lot. This is normal.”

 _“Normal?”_ she asked, horrified.

“He’ll live,” Cullen said without any further attempt to console her.

Alistair could see Celia chewing her lip and sensed she was resisting the urge to look back at him again. Instead she began to comb out her hair in an agitated way with her fingers, tugging at the strands roughly. Alistair stared out of the window and tried not to think about how much his face was throbbing, wondering vaguely if his nose _was_ broken and if it healing crooked would make him look cooler? Tougher? On the plus side, Duncan might give him more jobs in the future…Though that meant thinking about a time when Celia had left Denerim and that was not something that comforted him at all. If anything, his face seemed to ache more ferociously at the thought.

At the hospital there was a queue. The less urgent cases were scattered about the waiting room holding icepacks to their knees or heads, or otherwise sprawled in chairs, grumbling and moaning. Alistair seemed destined to join them.

“Can’t they fast track you?” Cullen asked once they’d given Alistair’s details at the triage, oblivious to all the other equally suffering people in the room. He looked at his watch impatiently. “I’m going to be late getting back.”

“Please,” Celia told him. “Go if you need to. I can wait with him and I’ll get a taxi for us.” When Cullen continued to look sceptical, she sighed. “I promise I’m not going to faint now.”

“Amb sheez oreddy ap tha hofpival ib she dub,” Alistair said, pointing out the doctors available to respond at a moment’s notice if she keeled over. He knew he was barely comprehensible but the joke landed nonetheless and Celia shot him a betrayed look and then quickly averted her eyes again. Alistair laughed then baulked from the pain it caused.

Cullen looked between them as if he couldn’t decide who he had less faith in. “Alright,” he relented.

“I’m going to go and see if they have a fresh towel,” Celia said, waving her hand roughly in the direction of Alistair and the bloody towel he was still holding up to his face.

Cullen watched her go and then briefly squeezed Alistair’s upper arm, looking him straight in the eye with a smug expression. “And you were worried you might have made a fool of yourself _during_ the game.” Before Alistair could even fully register his friend’s sarcasm, Cullen had left. Alistair groaned and flopped down on a plastic seat in an empty row.

A few moments later, Celia sat down too, glancing at him out the corner of her eye as she handed him some clean napkins from the nurse. He tentatively removed the towel to swap them, and was pleased to note that bleeding seemed to have finally began to subside on its own. Alistair shoved the towel into the depths of his kit bag so she wouldn’t have to see it, hoping it wouldn’t stain his football uniform.

Once he was sorted, he leaned back in the uncomfortable chair to wait, stretching out his legs and sighing. “You okay?” Celia asked and he nodded, then added an affirmative grunting noise in case she still didn’t want to look at him. Although she did seem largely better now the blood-soaked towel was out of the picture. She looked towards where Cullen had exited the building with a puzzled expression. “Do you think I made a bad impression on your friend? Because of the whole um, nearly fainting thing?”

Alistair shrugged. “Heeb lipe dap wib eberyone.”

“Like that with everyone?” she asked and Alistair nodded again.

Celia sat upright as a doctor walked towards them but he was looking for another patient. Disappointed, she slumped back, and Alistair noticed her hand resting on the seat of the chair, just centimetres from his own. They waited in silence, though he didn’t check his watch to confirm how long. Alistair thought about telling Celia to go home, that it wasn’t worth her wasting her night here and that he was fine. But selfishly, he wanted her to stay, and she said nothing of leaving, nor did she so much as sigh or shift impatiently. She just sat with him. He inched his fingers towards hers but lost his nerve when they were nearly touching.

Eventually, she spoke: “You seemed really great out there, on the field. I don’t know anything about sport, but you looked really good,” she told him, then quickly clarified: “You looked like you are good at football.”

“Yeah?” he said, swivelling his head towards her and grinning despite the pain.

“Yeah,” she said, flashing him a brief smile. They fell into an embarrassed silence, Alistair’s wide smile remaining, even if it was hidden by the paper napkins. “Why’b you comb?”

Celia wriggled her whole body ambiguously. “We spend so much time talking about all my boring research and sometimes I feel like I make everything revolve around me-”

“You domb't!” he objected, enunciating as clearly as he could.

“I hope it’s okay. That I came? I should have asked but I just decided on impulse.” She laughed nervously. “Very unlike me.”

“Nah. Ip’s greap. Ip’s cool.” It’s _cool_? He winced. If there was another locker in sight Alistair might have gone at it for a Round Two. “Glab you camb. Domb’t usually hab fans,” he joked in an attempt salvage the situation.

“Are you sure about that?” she said drily.

“Huh?”

“There were a few women sitting near me, talking about you. And they seemed like pretty big fans to me.”

“Um? I domb’t forrow,” he said, though he had an inkling he did.

She glanced at him. “You really don’t realise…” and then she sighed. “Don’t worry about it.”

Celia stared at the opposite wall, appearing suddenly deeply interested in an information poster about osteoporosis. Alistair glanced down as subtly as he could. Her hand was still there. It looked so tiny and delicate, laying between them on the cold, blue plastic seat next to his. He swallowed, tasted blood at the back of his throat, raised his hand and hovered it above hers -

A nurse called his name and Celia’s hand shot out of reach and up in the air like an eager student. “Here! He’s here!” she called urgently. Other patients gave her disgruntled looks but Celia ignored them, encouraging Alistair up, shooing him away to be assessed while she waited with his bag.

Swollen but not broken was the diagnosis, though the doctor was a little concerned he may be concussed given a contusion on his forehead seemed to indicate it had borne the worst of the collision. “No confusion?” she asked.

“No more than usual.” He still sounded congested but he could finally speak a bit more clearly since he’d had an icepack on his nose for a while.

“Nausea or headache?”

“A headache,” he admitted, “but not too bad.”

“And you’re sure you didn’t lose consciousness at all?” she asked, shining a light in his eyes, then, when Alistair indicated he hadn’t she told him, “You can go home and sleep normally, but you may need a bit of support over the next couple of weeks.”

“Weeks?” Alistair clarified unhappily.

“In a worst-case scenario. You might feel fine by tomorrow but if you are concussed there could be some ongoing symptoms while you recover. Normal tasks could be difficult or draining and you may not be able to drive. I’m going to send you off with all of this written down so you know what to expect,” she said, handing him a sheaf of papers, “but do you have someone who can check in on you? Especially over the next twenty-four hours?” she promoted again kindly.

He glanced towards the waiting room where Celia was. “I think so,” he said uncertainly.

Celia arranged a taxi and looked outraged, wrestling his bag from him when he had tried to carry it himself. Once they were back at their building, she had seen him over the threshold of his flat and told him, “Hold on. I’m just going to put my coat and bag away then I’ll be back.”

In that moment, Alistair surveyed his home with fresh eyes and it occurred to him that despite all the time they had spent together, she had never actually been in his flat before. He silently thanked the Maker that she probably hadn’t come far enough inside just now to notice his action figures. He rushed to his TV console and swept them into a drawer. He pulled his blind down to conceal the collection of plastic dinosaurs that marched along the windowsill and also made use of the time to gather up a few abandoned crisp packets and snack bar wrappers, scrunching them into the bottom of the bin, knowing how irrational he was being. He leaned with both hand against the kitchen counter. His head was spinning and he was fighting a rising nausea from the exertion.

She returned a few minutes later carrying an enormous shopping bag. “What’s in there? Are you moving in?” he asked, then cringed at his own comment which hurt his entire face in a huge way.

“Supplies,” she said and when he looked blankly at her she clarified: “Medicine and some food.” She dumped it down on the counter and then began to study the notes the hospital had given him, muttering to herself as if she was revising for a very important test and hadn’t just spent the whole taxi ride reading them obsessively.

“For how many months?” he asked incredulously, prodding the bag.

“You need to rest for while Alistair, you’re not going to be going anywhere any time soon so settle in.” She continued to read the doctor’s notes. “You can have some painkillers, if you need them. They gave you some and otherwise just paracetamol. Others might cause more bleeding. There’s some in the bag, if you don’t have any. Make a note of what time you take anything.”

“Uh huh.”

“You need to ice your nose regularly.” She opened his freezer without asking. “Frozen peas: perfect. Ooh, and Phish Food: nice!” She beamed at him then moderated her expression and closed the freezer. “Though ice-cream is less relevant right now.”

“Ice-cream is always relevant,” Alistair argued.

“I’ll pick you up a proper icepack: you can’t use peas long-term. Maybe a few so you can rotate them,” she continued. “I guess I’ll get them on the way back from the library tomorrow.” Alistair knew he immediately looked forlorn but it didn’t matter: so did she. “You should try to rest,” she told him. “I’ll check in on you before I go tomorrow morning too.” She became suddenly self-conscious and laughed awkwardly. “If that’s alright with you?”

“Yep. Thanks.”

“Great, see you tomorrow. Try to sleep: sleeping is the best thing you can do right now,” she said, pointing at the notes.

He took some painkillers and slept solidly, and was only just awake before she knocked on his door. She insisted on making him a cup of lemon tea and some toast in a flurry of activity that left his foggy brain bewildered, then left again once she’d watched him eat a couple of bites and stacked the dishwasher. Abandoning the toast the second she left, Alistair turned on the TV and skimmed through the options without inspiration. Eventually he had to turn it off again as the light made his eyes ache and he couldn’t focus on the picture.

It had been his plan that morning to wake up feeling great and insist on going into work. As it was, he had woken up feeling like he had the worst hangover of his life and as if he hadn’t slept for a week. He’d had to call Duncan and say he might need a few days. Feeling exhausted but somehow restless, he heaved himself up from the sofa and went to examine his face in the bathroom mirror. There was bruising on his forehead and around his right eye, as well as a lot of swelling around his nose. He was just heading to get the peas from the freezer when there was a knock at his door.

It was Celia. He stared at her. She stared at him. “You look worse than I remember.”

“Yeah,” he agreed: he couldn’t really argue with that.

“Sorry,” she told him, seeming to catch herself. “Sorry to disturb you. I hope you weren’t sleeping?” He shook his head slowly, dumbly. “Duncan called to arrange a replacement and I told him not to bother. I can’t seem to concentrate as well at the library when you’re not there. It just doesn’t feel right somehow. Can I work from here today?” She held up her satchel of books slightly, and he could see her laptop bag under her arm.

He smiled, and swung the door open wider to let her in.

* * *

This arrangement continued for over a week. Celia didn’t seem to mind him laying on the sofa with his eyes closed, listening to the TV with the volume low, and he certainly didn’t mind the sound of her rustling pages and the tapping of her keyboard. She would break to get them both meals, and seemed to arrive with more food every time she knocked on the door. She tidied up around the place, refreshed his cold packs regularly and refilled his painkiller prescription before he ran out. Alistair had a vague sense that he should have felt guilty about this, or been embarrassed by it all, but he was so feeble that he was simply grateful for the help.

In fact, still fighting a frustratingly persistent headache with occasional dizzy spells, he wasn’t sure what he would have done without her. And he had to admit: he really liked the way she would periodically get very close to him and gingerly touch around the bruises on his face with the pads of her fingers as if measuring them while making sympathetic humming noises.

Wynne too, checked in regularly. In contrast to Celia’s gentle interventions and kindness, she would tut and admonish, “Still laying about are you? Honestly Alistair…” even as she hauled out loads of washing for him. He wondered what Wynne thought of Celia being there so much but she never gave any indication of being concerned by her presence. Even on her first visit after the accident she was unsurprised to find Celia working from his dining table, or at least hid it well if she was. The two of them often had quiet conversations together in the kitchen while he lay inert and oblivious on the sofa. Wynne also drove him to his follow up appointment, even coming into the exam room with him, reeling off question after question and failing to correct the Doctor when he assumed she was his mother.

Eventually, when he was beginning to feel more himself, Leliana phoned, apparently just having found out about the whole saga. “What do you need? What can I do?” she asked immediately as he muted the TV.

“Nothing, I’m fine. Thanks Leliana. How are you?”

“We’re frantic at the office: Justinia is booked out for months.” Alistair was about to respond to this when she changed the subject back to him abruptly: “How can you be fine? You were injured playing football, were you not?”

“That is one way of putting it. Technically it was _after_ I played football but I assume Cullen is trying to preserve my dignity. I just fell over my own feet.”

“Regardless of when it happened, he said you were a mess Alistair,” Leliana’s voice was sharp with worry.

“It looked worse right afterwards. A lot of blood, but my nose wasn’t even broken. No big deal.”

“So you’re saying it didn’t hurt? Not at all?” Leliana asked with scepticism.

“Well, it does hurt,” he admitted. “A bit. And I might still be a touch concussed. Just a smidgen. But I’m pretty much back to normal overall.”

“Why didn’t you call me? I wish Cullen had told me sooner: you know he raised it only as an afterthought? I can’t understand that man. We spoke about Par Vollen increasing their military funding for twenty minutes and _then_ he mentioned your near-death experience only when I asked how you were.”

Alistair half-sighed, half-laughed. “It’s not a big deal Leliana. I’m okay.”

“I’m coming right after I finish up at work. As soon as I can get away. It might be after ten: will you be awake? I can’t believe Cullen left you to wait alone at the hospital.”

Alistair raised an eyebrow but didn’t rush to correct her. “You don’t need to come. It’s so far out of your way.”

Leliana hesitated. “Don’t I?” she asked, sounding suspicious. “Aren’t you starving? Can I bring you food?”

“Really. I have everything I need and I know you’re ridiculously busy.”

“Why is that Alistair?”

“Why is what?”

“Why is it that you’re insisting you’re perfectly fine managing on your own? Why won’t you let me help?” She asked again, but in knowing way. He might have lied and just said Wynne, but it was clear Leliana would see straight through him.

“You know why,” he muttered. “You’ve obviously come to your own conclusions already.”

“But I would very much like you to say it.”

“Celia,” he said, voice barely audible.

“Pardonne-moi?” Leliana asked delightedly, clearly having heard him perfectly anyway.

“Celia! Celia’s here. Celia’s with me,” Celia peered up over the kitchen bench at the repetition of her name. “And I’m not hungry at all: she won’t stop feeding me,” he said in distressed tones for her benefit. Celia laughed, picked up a bunch of celery she was about to chop and waved it at him menacingly. Alistair played out being petrified, then got up and walked into his bedroom as Celia went on preparing the vegetables. Keeping his voice low he added to Leliana: “She stayed with me at the hospital too so don’t be too hard on Cullen.”

“He failed to mention that,” she said in her I’m-going-to-have-words-with-him-later voice while Alistair silently planned to buy his friend a beer for his discretion even if it was ultimately fruitless. He didn’t mind Leliana finding out: he would have told her himself. Eventually. But the attempt was appreciated nonetheless.

After a very long conversation in which Leliana had interrogated him about his condition and every aspect of Celia’s involvement in the recovery process, she hung up and he let out a long exhale.

Back in the kitchen, Celia also had her phone up to her ear, though she wasn’t speaking. After a moment she gave up with a grumble, jabbing at the screen before slipping her phone back into her pocket.

“Everything okay?” Alistair asked. Celia started at his voice, looking at him with an almost guilty expression that she quickly shook off.

“Yes. Was just trying to call a friend at home.” She hesitated for a moment then added, “Nate.”

“Not answering?”

“Hasn’t been since I moved here,” she told him with a resigned sigh, shaking a packet of pasta into a pot of water that had just started to boil.

Alistair meandered over to the kitchen to see where she was up to with dinner. He hovered over the sauce pot and she handed him a spoon so he could taste it. “Does he have a problem with your research here? Was he on the anti-book brigade or something?” Then he pointed to the pot. “It’s really good, but are you going to add more salt?”

“Nothing like that. He’s not angry at anything I’ve done. He’s just...” Her explanation faltered into nothingness. “And no: there’s cheese going on it too and I’m worried about your sodium intake.”

“Sodium? Why? And he’s just what?”

“Bad for blood pressure. He’s just angry in general I guess, not at me.”

“Sounds like a real charmer. I thought you were worried about my cholesterol?”

“I’m worried about all of you Alistair. Nate’s going through a rough patch. It’s not his fault.”

“This has been going on for a while? I’m worried about your worrying about me, by the way: stress is bad for blood pressure too you know.”

“I’m worried about your worrying about my worrying _and_ you have a concussion,” she said with finality and gave him a firm look. “Maybe since we were teenagers. His dad puts a lot of pressure on him, always has. Doesn’t forgive failures easily, really hounds him about things. Very narrow view of what Nate should be doing at any given minute of the day.”

“Sounds rough.”

“Yeah. He’ll figure it out though, find his own way. I just need to give him time.”

“You’re a good friend to not give up on him.” Celia smiled at that as Alistair manoeuvred around her to unpack some cutlery from the dishwasher.

“And that must have been Leliana checking in, speaking of good friends.”

“She said to say ‘hi’.” He was grabbing crockery from the dishwasher now, creating a stack to take to the cupboard but stopped abruptly when bending over made him feel woozy. He stood in place, clutching the dishes tightly.

Accustomed to these dizzy spells, Celia gently prised the plates out of his hands and finished the job for him without comment. “Did you meet both her and Cullen at school?”

He held onto the bench with one hand and pressed the other against his forehead until he felt himself again. “Yeah. One silver lining from Hessarian’s was meeting them, I guess. They’re both a bit ‘ _ooh the Chantry’_ ,” he said in an affected voice, “But they’re good people.”

“They care about you. And they must know you’ve been having an awful time of it with this concussion.”

“Hm? Oh. I wouldn’t say that,” Alistair said vaguely as he watched Celia stir the simmering pasta absentmindedly.

Celia cleared her throat. “Actually, I had something I wanted to ask you before I forget again,” she said in a strangely stilted way that made him suspect she had rehearsed it.

“Ask away,” he told her. Whatever it was, he was already pretty certain the answer was ‘yes’.

She went on staring into the pot instead of looking at him. “In a few weeks I’ve been asked to give a presentation at a networking event for the University. To represent Highever. It’s a condition of my grant actually, so I don’t really have a choice.”

She sounded hesitant and Alistair was immediately concerned. “Is this about your research? Are you worried it might stir up some trouble amongst the ranks of complainers? Have them rattling their pitchforks and what have you?” He leaned against the counter casually and tried to make it sound like he was joking, even while he carefully watched her profile for a reaction.

“It’s not. Nothing like that. The presentation is about my thesis which, believe it or not, was entirely uncontroversial. And the audience will be other academics and scholars who hopefully have a fairly open mind about what I’m doing here anyway.”

“So what did you want to ask me then? If it’s for pointers on public speaking you’ve come to the wrong guy.”

“I want you to come with me,” she said, more to the pot of pasta than to him.

“Why? Are you taking Tevinter’s book on a little outing?” he laughed at the image as he stole a piece of cheese off the cutting board. She turned to watch him impassively having learned to prepare extra when he was around. “I know you’re attached to it but even with my immense charm and powers of persuasion I’m doubtful I’d be able to get Duncan to sign off on you taking the book out on a date.”

But Celia (who fairly reliably laughed at all of his jokes) was not amused. In fact, she looked crestfallen. “No,” she said quietly. “I’m not taking the book out on a date.”

“Right. Ah,” he said, feeling tremendously dense and suddenly a bit faint headed again.

She bit her lip, then turned away, busying herself chopping a bunch of parsley. “You don’t have to come. It’ll be pretty boring. You’d have a terrible time.”

“I’d be happy to,” he said, and when she looked surprised, he insisted with a laugh: “You’re not exactly overselling it but seriously: I’ll come.”

Her shoulders sagged with apparent relief. Whether because he had accepted the invitation or because she was desperate to not go alone Alistair couldn’t say. “Thank you. And I didn’t even have to tell you the bit about the fancy cheese platters.”

“I thought you knew me,” he said with exaggerated betrayal and a hand over his heart. “Why didn’t you _open_ with the cheese platters?”

“I was saving my ace. Fergus was meant to come with me but he can’t. Something with his work. Going alone would have been insufferable. I was so scared you’d say no,” she said in a bit of a rush. Her phone timer went off and she hurried to silence it and turn off the stove.

“Not a fan of giving speeches?”

She tipped the pasta into a colander to drain, leaning back from the cloud of steam that came billowing up from the sink. “No. That part is fine.”

“Then why are you so worried? You don’t strike me as someone who struggles with small talk.”

She agitated the colander a little to shake off the excess water. “You don’t know what it’s like. All those academics together? They’re all so disgustingly clever and constantly trying to catch you out. It just turns into one big…”

“Pissing contest?” Alistair suggested helpfully.

Celia let out a surprised giggle. “Not what I was going to say but that works.”

“So you want me there because I’m dumb,” he said jokingly but still holding the colander, Celia spun her whole body to give him a sharp look, a crease forming between her brows.

“I hate it when you talk about yourself like that,” she told him admonishingly and he shrugged briefly in acknowledgment. “I want someone there who isn’t trying to outmanoeuvre me at every turn and catch me getting a date wrong or attributing a quote incorrectly. I just wanted to go with a friend.”

“Then as a friend, do I have a license to tell you that you’re dripping pasta water on the floor? Because you are,” he said, pointing at the colander.

Hesitating only to smile and shake her head slightly, she quickly moved it back to the sink. “I’m glad you’ll be there Alistair. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he told her sincerely, then added quietly, “Cheese platters…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are about to get into the thick of things now and I am jazzed. Can I officially add the 'idiots in love' tag yet?  
> Thanks so much for reading! I really didn't except to be accompanied by a single soul on this one and I'm so grateful.


	10. Downward Spiral

‘Fairly formal’ had been Celia’s instructions, and Alistair had watched a YouTube tutorial on how to properly iron his best shirt for the occasion. He could have tried calling Cullen, or even Leliana, but frankly he didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. Cullen would berate him for never paying attention in the past and Leliana would jump to uncomfortable conclusions about this being a date. Which it wasn’t.

He was nervous enough as it was.

The shirt had ended up balled at the bottom of his closet having fallen from its hanger probably six months earlier but at least it was clean. With enough persistence he got it adequately ironed, or at least significantly improved, even if the collar still sat a bit askew. He stared at himself in the mirror, utterly dissatisfied, combing his hair carefully back. Feeling ridiculous he lasted about five seconds before giving in and mussing it up at the front in his usual way.

Had he not been so distracted by these tasks, and if not for being generally overwhelmed with concern about bringing his appearance up to a presentable standard, Alistair may have wondered what Celia would be wearing. After all, he had never seen her in anything other than some combination of jeans and lumpy woollen jumpers. She always seemed haphazard but still somehow put together, definitely comfortable but just presentable enough to be befitting of a scholar. But that didn’t offer any clues or translate into what her idea of ‘fairly formal’ might look like.

As it was, he was so focused on whether or not he should wear a tie that the thought never crossed his mind. He ultimately decided against the tie given the only one he could actually locate had a pattern of mabari wearing Midwinter garlands on it. Just as he was shoving this back into his sock drawer, he heard a knock at his door.

Opening it revealed Celia, or a confusing version of Celia in a dark burgundy pencil dress and heels. The dress had a below knee-length skirt and a high neckline but Alistair was unaccustomed to seeing her in anything even remotely fitted. To say the least. The colour of it brought out the warmth in her skin and her usually unruly hair was carefully brushed back from her face and knotted in some incomprehensible and complex manner at the base of her neck. A few loose strands framed her face. Eyes sparkling, she lowered her gaze to look through her lashes and smiled shyly. “Hello,” she said when he only stared at her in astonished silence. Alistair failed to respond and swallowed, raking a hand through his hair. Celia raised an eyebrow. “I was going to say: ‘have you never seen me in a dress before’ but you actually wouldn’t have.”

“Yeah, um,” Alistair stammered, knowing he was staring but unable to tear his eyes away. Suddenly it felt incredibly crucial he make a witty remark right at that moment before he said or did anything else rash. “Have you decided which of your extensive jumper collection you’re going to wear over the top of that yet? Because the really baggy grey one with a hole at the hem would look just lovely.”

She threw her head back to laugh and Alistair found himself having to fight a sudden compulsion to close the distance between them and press his lips to her throat. Instead he forced a chuckle and she thwacked him lightly on the arm with her purse. “Very funny. You’re looking quite smart Alistair.”

“I hope you mean intelligent because it is all part of my plan to blend in,” he said from behind his hand in a stage whisper.

“You know what I meant,” she said. “Are you ready? I want to get this over with.”

In the taxi Celia was visibly nervous, her legs jiggling as she folded and refolded her hands in her lap, periodically reaching up to check her hair was still in place or to twitch the zip of her purse. Alistair kept stealing glances at her, still taken aback by her appearance. Which he was ashamed of, conscious as he was that he was supposed to be there to support her, not ogle at her. But he couldn’t seem to help it: she was so beautiful. She was also oblivious to him, wrapped up in her own private worries. Still, in an attempt at courtesy he turned his head and forced himself to watch the buildings rush by through the taxi window. But even with his eyes averted, he was distractedly aware of her perfume, which was just like the kind of flowers you caught the scent of on balmy summer nights and her hair, as ever, like berries.

At the venue entrance, Celia checked in her coat and purse as he waited. When she returned, she looked desperately at him before gesturing in an ambiguous flail. “Nervous?” he asked. She exhaled a long, audible breath instead of speaking. “Celia. You’re going to be great,” he said, holding her gaze and trying to convey all the confidence he had in her.

She looked unconvinced but smiled anyway. “Thank you,” she said softly. Stepping closer she reached up to tug at his crooked collar, having about as little success with it as he had. Alistair stood very still as her fingers fluttered, raising his chin slightly when she accidentally brushed against the underside of his jaw.

“Celia?” came an unfamiliar voice and she stepped away from him. Alistair let out a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding.

“Nate!” Celia said excitedly and Alistair’s stomach dropped. Celia hurried across the lobby as fast as her shoes would allow, straight towards a man in a tailored suit with dark, swept back hair and what was unmistakably his father’s nose. She stopped abruptly in front of him and made a slight jerking motion, then stepped back and laughed awkwardly. It was clear to Alistair that she had been about to hug him then had decided against it. From Nate’s brief scowl, he had evidently concluded the same thing. “Maker: it’s so good to see you,” Celia told Nate enthusiastically and Alistair joined them uncertainly, keeping a few paces back. “I wasn’t sure I ever would again,” her tone was light and teasing but Nate’s mouth tightened into a thin line.

“I’m here with Dad. I didn’t know you were attending but I should have guessed.”

Celia looked startled. “I’m presenting tonight. He didn’t tell you that?”

Nate sucked in air through his teeth. “No. He failed to mention that detail. I guess he knew I wouldn’t come if he did.”

“Wow. Okay,” Celia said. Alistair saw her posture droop a little and, as the silence dragged out, he finally stepped in.

“Alistair,” he said by way of introduction, holding out a hand which Nate shook firmly but not aggressively so.

“Nathaniel Howe. Colleague?”

“Kind of –” Alistair began.

“Friend,” Celia interjected. “And moral support,” she added, briefly smiling up at Alistair.

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d have anything to be nervous about. Dad said you haven’t done a thing wrong since you graduated,” Nate told her, but without any detectable trace of warmth or congratulations.

“It doesn’t follow that I can’t,” Celia pointed out.

“I don’t know. You always manage to fall on your feet.” This time the bitterness was unmistakable.

“What does that mean?” she asked then quickly added, “Never mind I already know the answer. What are you doing here?”

“I already told you. Dad asked me to come.”

Celia put her hands on her hips. “I meant in Denerim. Or are you going to tell me it’s none of my business? Is that how things are between us now?”

Relenting, Nate sighed. “I’ve been following up on some possible internships here. Job opportunities.”

“Nate! That’s _wonderful_.” Nate seemed taken aback by her enthusiasm and Alistair could almost see his glacial hostility melting a little. And he wasn’t surprised: the man would have to be made of stone to resist her right now.

Still, Alistair wished he _would_.

Nate rolled his shoulders, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t know if anything will pan out yet.”

“Does your dad know about this?” Celia asked.

“Absolutely not. You know what he’s like.”

“I do,” she said, clucking her tongue in sympathy.

“He probably wanted me to come tonight to remind me how much he wishes I was more like you instead.”

“Like me?” Celia said looking doubtful. “What are you talking about?”

“Smart, successful and constantly the centre of attention. Dad never stops talking about you.”

“You’re brilliant in your own right. He knows that. Anyone can see how proud he is.”

“Don’t. You’re too naïve,” Nate told her quickly, voice hard.

Celia hissed in irritation. “This again? Aren’t you tired of it?”

Nate raised his chin in a brief, dismissive gesture and Alistair felt like he was missing something. “You don’t understand,” he told Celia with clear contempt.

“Oh I understand perfectly,” she replied and Nate worked his jaw back and forth in agitation before staring off into space. “I see you’ve already determined you’re going to be in a mood. I have to go but maybe we can talk later?”

“I’m not sure how long I’ll stay,” Nate said still staring past her.

Celia reached out and lightly rested a hand against Nate’s arm, just above the wrist. “Don’t leave because of…it doesn’t have to be like this Nate,” she told him imploringly as she glanced up at a clock behind the coat check in. “Ah Maker, I really do have to go. They’ll be looking for me. Stay until after my presentation?”

“Perhaps,” Nate said and Celia made an exasperated noise, yanking her hand back. Apparently she had finally reached her limit for cajoling the man and Alistair was selfishly relieved for it.

“Fine. Or don’t. I’m not going to beg,” she told him with a complete lack of concern, pivoting on her heel and heading towards the main room. Alistair had to bite back a surprised laugh as he glanced at Nate who was watching her go with a stormy expression.

“What?” Nate asked him.

Alistair grinned. “Nothing. Nothing at all,” he said after an intentional pause. He was about to follow Celia when the front doors were flung open and Mr Howe came in looking furious.

“Couldn’t find a parking spot anywhere,” he snapped at Nate, then, noticing Alistair with undisguised displeasure asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know, just thought it would bug you if I came and I couldn’t resist,” Alistair told him, shoving his hands into his pockets casually.

“Then where is –” Howe asked, cutting himself off with a glance at Nate.

“I know she’s here. I’m not staying,” Nate told him as Mr Howe spluttered angrily.

Alistair took this as his queue to leave and gave a little bow in farewell. “Have a good night,” he told them both pleasantly and strode away.

* * *

Celia’s presentation went brilliantly. Or at least, from Alistair’s perspective it did. She spoke confidently and seemed to enjoy herself as she hit her stride. It was clear she knew the material like the back of her hand and even answered some questions at the end with poise and enthusiasm. He could see how she held the audience’s attention and felt a surge of pride that was wholly undeserved, as if he had contributed to her accomplishments somehow. At the conclusion of her speech, there was applause then a few of the guests rushed the podium as she stepped away from the microphone, clearly burning with more questions for her. Alistair watched Celia greet them graciously before they completely blocked his view of her.

He cased about the room, following the food, keeping an eye on the people there and moving on if anyone looked like they were thinking about approaching him. Eventually however, he was cornered by a man in a three-piece tweed suit.

“Professor Charles Farthington,” the man said, shaking Alistair’s hand. From the careful way he watched Alistair’s face, it was clear he anticipated his name to elicit a reaction.

“Alistair,” Alistair replied bluntly.

Clearly disappointed by the lack of recognition, the man gave him an analytical look. “What area do you work in?”

“Security.”

“In terms of economic security? Or in a philosophical sense.”

“Neither. In the sense of securing things. Objects. People.”

“Artefact restoration and preservation?”

Alistair gritted his teeth. “No. I’m just a security guy. You know: chasing shoplifters. Crowd control. Bodyguards.” For someone who was supposed to be intelligent this guy really needed it spelled out.

“You aren’t an academic?”

“Perish the thought. No, and not usually mistaken for one either.”

Charles tutted. “Worthless.”

Alistair’s recoiled a step and he let out an involuntary, surprised laugh. “Excuse me?”

“This is supposed to be a networking event and here I am wasting my time with you.” Charles said priggishly as he gazed about the room, presumably looking for someone more worthwhile to talk to.

“Uhh, you came and spoke to me?”

“The invitation said ‘ _exclusive’_. I can’t begin to understand why you’re here taking up floor space.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a-”

With a light touch on his arm alerting Alistair to her arrival, Celia was suddenly at his side with a placating smile on her face. “Sorry Alistair. You have to understand that Professor Farthington is a titan in his area,” she explained, her voice like velvet. Charles gave a smug nod in Celia’s direction while Alistair gawped at her. Was this a friend of hers? _This_ insufferable man?

“ _Ceeelia,”_ Charles drawled in a way that made Alistair’s skin crawl as Celia’s hand tightened its grip on his arm. “The woman of the hour. Now the prospects of the evening have finally improved: I was hoping to have to pleasure of your company tonight. How is your father?”

Celia continued talking to Alistair as if she hadn’t heard Charles speak at all. “Really, you must know him Alistair? You must have read some of his work? Oh…or perhaps not because I don’t believe he has published anything of merit in the last two decades and coasts along on the infamy of a piece of research that has long since been universally decried as irredeemably flawed –”

Charles, finally realising Celia wasn’t actually on his side, began to protest. “There was a hate campaign targeted against me by jealous –”

“By several of your previous research assistants. Young women who were not _jealous_ by my understanding, but instead had worryingly similar stories about your particular manner of conducting yourself around them.”

Charles sneered and took a step closer to Celia who squared herself. Alistair would have been worried by the potential threat if Celia didn’t look like she was tensed and more than ready to strike out all on her own. “The circumstances of those ‘complaints’ were settled privately. It is not for you, or for anyone to speculate –”

“But surely you aren’t going to try and blame your assistants for your inherently flawed methodology and...how shall I put it? Your creative license with your discoveries? Unless you are confessing to not producing your own work?”

Charles sneered at her. “You’ve let your recent success go to your head. Don’t be surprised if it doesn’t last. Pride comes before the fall, girl.”

“As I said Alistair: a titan in his field,” Celia continued airily, without acknowledging Farthington's protests. “I can’t think of a single scholar in Fereldan who has received more behavioural complaints from students. Quite the accomplishment.” Her voice was calm but Alistair could hear the anger swirling underneath it like an ocean current. Celia turned back to Charles. “Why take issue with Alistair being here when the only reason _you’re_ here seems to be your longstanding controversy, rather than any recent contributions of worth? And my father is well, thank you for asking. He is using some of your articles as examples of what not to do in his introductory first year units. Have a good evening, Professor Farthington. Alistair?” Celia squeezed his arm again and steered him quickly away.

When they were at the bar and out of earshot Alistair let out a flustered laugh while Celia threw back a large mouthful of wine, her expression grim. “What was that? Did I just witness a scholarly cage fight?” he asked her.

“Can’t stand him,” Celia said simply before taking another mouthful.

“I could tell. Woah, slow down there,” he told her with a calming gesture as she swirled the wine in her glass. “He really got to you?”

She scrunched up her face then pinched the bridge of her nose. “Him. And everyone.”

“But your speech was amazing. You were amazing. Surely you could see they were all captivated?” he said with a gesture around the room. “I was too,” he added. She gave him a pointed, sceptical look in response to the last comment. “Oh believe me: I was fully prepared to just stand there and _pretend_ to listen but it was so interesting. I had no idea language could be used as a colonising tool. I’d always despised reciting all those canticles at school and now I have a good reason to justify why. The Chantry really have a lot to answer for, don’t they? Very gross.”

This proof that he had actually paid attention prompted a real smile from her, brief and tiny though it was. “Alistair,” she said fondly before her face clouded over again. “I shouldn’t have brought you.”

“I’m embarrassing you.” It was a statement, not a question.

“No!” she said with alarm. “Don’t think that! I’m glad you’re here but it was selfish of me to ask you to come. I thought it might be less awful if I was with you but…” She slid her glass towards herself again but Alistair reached out and stopped her, placing his hand lightly over her own.

“Hold up. What’s going on? This isn’t about that guy, is it? What happened before? With Nate? Did you talk to him again?”

“Nate? No, he’s long gone I assume. Nothing has happened: it’s always the same old story with him,” she said tiredly. She shifted the stem of the glass out of his grasp and raised it nearly to her lips then sighed and placed it back down on the bar. “Everyone keeps telling me how excited they are for me to finish my research. How they can’t wait to read it.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” Alistair said, though judging by her downcast expression it clearly wasn’t.

“It’s like a veiled threat. They mean they can’t wait to tear it apart and sit there and think they’d have done better. To be the first to find an error or publish a scathing response piece. They put you up on a pedestal because they can’t wait to tear you down off it again.”

“Really? You got all that from them saying the want to read your stuff?” he asked, with more confusion than scepticism.

She let out a weary sigh. “It’s just how it works. It’s always like this.”

“I believe you,” he said, not knowing how else to reassure her.

“Everyone keeps saying how lucky I am. _Lucky_ …” She screwed her eyes closed.

“You don’t feel lucky?”

“They tell me they’re excited to my face, that they’re oh so in awe of what I’m doing, but then who is sending those messages saying I deserve to be…” Celia broke off, looking down and fiddling with the hem of her skirt self-consciously. She couldn’t seem to bring herself to describe in even the vaguest of terms what the messages said but she didn’t need to: Alistair was already uncomfortably familiar with the scope of harm and injury threatened within them. “What if I’ve just been mingling with the same people who post furious diatribes against me every night?” She seemed to misread his troubled expression and shook her head. “Sorry: I know I must sound ridiculous.”

“No. It seems entirely reasonable to me, given everything that’s happened.” She didn’t reply, only drank again. “Do you feel unsafe here?” he asked. She put her glass down firmly and turned sharply towards him. Alistair tensed, anticipating anger. Instead she looked at him pleadingly.

“Let’s just -”

“Cece!” called out a man, approaching them rapidly. Celia looked up in surprise and Alistair recognised the newcomer as Fergus, just before he captured his sister in an encompassing hug, rocking her from side to side as she tried to protest through her own gleeful laughter.

“I didn’t know you were coming!” she said in a high-pitched voice, beaming up at him once she was released. Alistair was just glad to see her looking genuinely happy again.

“Wasn’t sure I’d make it. And oh, hello again. Alistair, wasn’t it? The cat whisperer and neighbourhood hero?”

Fergus reached out and Alistair accepted the rather enthusiastic handshake. “Yes, just a few of my many titles. Good to see you Fergus,” he said, meaning it.

“I’m glad you brought security Celia: it’s a jolly hazardous environment you’ve wandered into,” Fergus told her, gesturing at Alistair. “These people are vicious.”

“You know, if you had told me that before we got here, I would have thought you were joking,” Alistair said drily.

“Alistair’s had some firsthand experience already,” Celia explained.

“Yes. But you were the one protecting me,” Alistair said with a lopsided smile as Celia scrunched her nose up and shook her head.

“Who was it?” Fergus asked, scanning the room.

“Charles Farthington,” Celia told him with obvious distaste.

Fergus let out a snort. “Old Charlie boy eh? Still kicking around is he, and pretending to be relevant? You whack him down a few pegs Cece?”

“And then some,” Alistair told him.

“Brilliant!” Fergus slapped the bar lightly while Celia looked embarrassed.

“It’s good to see a friendly face anyway,” she told her brother. “How was work?”

“Conferences. Dull.”

“So you came to spend your precious downtime at this event?”

“Just to see you Cece. Check up and make sure you’re doing okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she said, sounding very young and bristling with indignation at the seemingly inoffensive comment. This only made Fergus let out a bark of laughter. A little lost, Alistair assumed this must be a ‘sibling thing’.

“You’re always fine, aren’t you Cece? Never caused a second of trouble in your life. Perfect Celia…Precious Celia…Saint Celia…”

“Lay off Fergus.”

“Alright, alright. Don’t mind my fussing. We're all just worried about you being here in the big city alone.”

“We?”

Fergus looked amused. “You really think Mum and Dad have forgotten about their favourite child just because she is out of town?”

“Don’t be absurd. Besides, they don’t sound worried on the phone.”

“Really? You don’t get the endless prattling of: ‘Oh I hope she is eating well. Does she know that chia seeds are meant to be very nutritious? Is she getting any fresh air? Did you hear someone got mugged on the underground? Is she remembering to wear her glasses when she reads?’,” Fergus asked, putting on a high voice that Alistair assumed was an impression of their mother.

“No! I get ten hundred book recommendations from Dad and then reminded to call Aunt Hyacinth for her birthday.”

“And did you call her?” Fergus asked seriously, in the tone of an investigative journalist.

“I already had.”

“Good girl.” Celia blew a raspberry and reached out to shove her brother. “So they haven’t said anything about the threats?”

“Why would they? It’s old news, isn’t it?”

Fergus hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure if he should continue. “Dad’s getting emailed threats too now, did he tell you? They’re saying they have something that proves he is a fraud and a cheat blah blah and they’ll leak it unless you quit.”

Celia looked totally stunned, rocking back on her heels and reaching out for the bar to brace herself. “What? I had no idea. Why wouldn’t he tell me?”

“I guess because he doesn’t want to distract you.”

“Well I am distracted! Maker’s breath Fergus. Pestering me is one thing but I don’t like them going after him.”

“Don’t worry Cece. Dad’s not bothered. You know him: it’s all water off a duck’s back. I wasn’t trying to scare you. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything…”

“I’m not scared,” she snapped. “Do you think it’s any different from the torrent of nonsense I get in a day?

Alistair was watching this exchange carefully, and at this final comment, he noticed Fergus’ gaze flick towards him. They briefly locked eyes. It occurred to Alistair that Fergus may know about the extra security arrangements his parents had made, even if his sister did not. “You’re still getting a lot of threats?” he asked Celia.

“They’re just words,” Celia said dismissively, smoothing down her hair in a few short, sharp motions. People are…Oh I don’t know what they are. Jealous. Intimidated. Just plain mean.”

“True. People are only going on the attack because they are threatened by you. And they can’t touch Dad’s integrity: they have nothing on him. Just like they have nothing on you,” Fergus explained calmly.

Celia rolled her eyes. “I’m aware. I wasn’t asking you to reassure me.”

“Don’t let them win Celia. Your work is important,” Fergus said, though Celia was clearly finding her brother’s interventions in the matter irritating.

She let out a frustrated hissing noise. “It’s not even worth thinking about. You’re the one who is labouring on the issue.”

“Good for you Cece. Like you say: no point dwelling,” Fergus told her with forced joviality. Celia smiled in a strained way without showing her teeth. “Let’s find a table or something. Somewhere quieter.” Fergus suggested, craning his neck to look about the room. Alistair hovered as the siblings grabbed drinks and made to leave, unwilling to impose on their reunion. They both turned to look at him expectantly.

“Are you coming?” Celia asked, reaching out her hand towards him. Alistair’s heart skipped a beat. There was a moment where the three of them stood frozen, staring at Celia’s outstretched hand, until looking startled, Celia seemed to catch herself and let it drop with a blush.

“I think he’ll find his way alright on his own Celia. It’s a bar, not the depths of the Par Vollen jungle,” Fergus said, perhaps to try and break the tension but it only served to draw attention to the awkward moment and Celia hurried away from them to find an empty table. Alistair went to follow her, his heart pounding. The collar of his shirt felt suddenly too tight and he plucked at it, wondering if he could get away with undoing the top button. Fergus gave him an assessing look as he passed: one that was not entirely unfriendly, but was certainly not encouraging either.

It was a long night, more so for Celia than for Alistair. The conversation with Fergus was enjoyable: Celia’s brother had an easy manner and boisterous sense of humour so they likely all would have enjoyed themselves if other people didn’t keep coming up to accost to Celia. They kept dragging her away to speak to her as Celia mouthed apologies to the table. Some seemed starstruck, some seemed like they had a bone to pick, or some theory to unravel with her. Every time she returned to the table, she seemed increasingly wretched and downtrodden, not speaking or paying much heed to their conversation.

It was nearly 1:00 AM and this time however, the situation had deteriorated significantly. Celia had been away for the longest period yet, and upon returning, struggled to pull her chair out. She then just about fell into it, still clutching a partially drunk glass of wine which sloshed dangerously. Alistair and Fergus exchanged a surprised look.

“I say…You going alright there Cece?” Fergus asked.

“I’m having an awful time,” she said in a flat voice, placing the wine in front of her and staring at it miserably.

“It has been a bit of a busy night for you,” Alistair told her consolingly.

“Why won’t they leave me alone?” she whined, shrinking into her seat with her shoulders hunched as if hoping to conceal herself from notice.

“The perils of celebrity,” Fergus said in a knowing voice. “Your fault for being so bloody smart and interesting Cece. What were you thinking honestly?” Celia folded her arms on the table and slumped face first into them. Fergus grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back up. She swayed, looking dazed. “Andraste’s bloomers how many have you had?” Fergus asked, his shock evident.

“Had what?” she asked, blinking rapidly, apparently struggling to make her eyes focus on her brother.

“ _Drinks_ Cece. Maker, you are absolutely sozzled.” Fergus reached across the table and decisively slid the wine glass away from her.

Celia concentrated for a long time, counting on her fingers. “Just three!” she said, holding up four fingers to her brother. “That one is…my three-d. Third?” she said woozily, swaying dangerously close to tipping from her chair until Alistair grabbed her shoulder and pushed her back upright from his side.

“Thirty-three did you say?” Fergus said, shaking his head.

“One with Alistair, one with yoooou and then…got me that one,” she said slurring as she spoke. Alistair missed the name but it sounded like ‘Brandon’.

“And that’s it? I think you’ve miscounted Cece, look at you. Good thing you study history not mathematics.”

“You know what Fergus…Why don’t you go…And…” Celia looked briefly furious and swatted at him, then her face went neutral. “What are we talking about?”

“Bloody hell. About you making a thoroughly good night of it, sis,” Fergus told her.

Celia looked indignant. “I am _not_ having a good night. These people are _awful_. I can’t believe I shaved my legs for this,” she told them loudly, apparently untroubled by the proximity of her peers and colleagues.

Alistair and Fergus looked at each other with mirrored concern and Alistair faked an enormous yawn. “It must be just about time to head off. I’m flagging.”

“Great idea Alistair. Come on Cece, let’s get you up.”

They hurried Celia out through the lobby, brushing aside those who tried to speak to her: “Celia’s not available to talk right now,” Alistair told one woman who tried to block their path, adding a gruff: “Just send her an email about it!” when she tried to insist.

Out in the street, they stood waiting for a taxi, each supporting one side of Celia as she staggered and flailed, apparently determined to escape. “Blessed Maker: she’s worse than I thought,” Fergus told Alistair over her head. Celia didn’t even seem to register they were talking about her as she stopped and gazed with sudden fascination at a streetlamp. “She must be stressed: I’ve never seen her like this. Not a big one for the tipple generally.”

“I thought she was drinking wine. Did I miss the part when she started doing tequila shots?” Alistair asked.

“No idea,” Fergus said with equal confusion. “Come on Cece. Stay on your feet. There you are.” They heaved her up as her legs crumpled and she sank between them. There was a series of rapid pings and Fergus wrestled his phone out of his jacket pocket. “Ah Fade damn it all,” he said, letting go of Celia to examine it more closely. Alistair quickly took her full weight and Celia spun around face him, getting all together far too close.

“You’re so _strong_ ,” she said with obvious delight, pressing up against him.

“Everything alright?” Alistair asked Fergus, leaning back as Celia began to pet his face, tracing his features with clumsy hands, her expression unselfconsciously absorbed.

“ _Heyyy,"_ she slurred. "You have freckles. Beautiful freckles. Tiny, beautiful freckles all over your beautiful face,” she told Alistair in a breathy whisper and Alistair prayed it was quiet enough that her brother didn’t hear it. Fortunately, Fergus seemed totally wrapped up in his own problems.

“My wife is back at our accommodation. The kiddo was meant to be asleep but he’s still up and there has been a massive toddler incident.”

“A what?” Alistair asked and immediately wished he hadn’t.

“Vomit incident,” Fergus clarified. “Apparently the blackberry ice-cream he had earlier didn’t sit well. She’s sent photos. Here,” he said, holding the phone out to Alistair. “It’s like something from a horror film.”

“No thanks!” Alistair said, quickly looking away.

Fergus laughed at his disgust and pocketed his phone again. “I need to get back fast or I’ll be in the doghouse…forever.”

“Alright. Do what you need to.”

Fergus gave Alistair a level look. “Can I trust you to get her home safely?” he said, nodding at Celia.

“Absolutely,” Alistair said sincerely even as he had to stoop when Celia looped her arms around his neck and began to dangle from him, giggling softly to herself. He was torn between continuing to keep her off the ground and trying to put distance between them as Fergus watched on blankly.

“Yeah. I figured. I know she thinks a lot of you but…”

Alistair finally unlinked her arms from around his neck and manoeuvred her to stand at his side as Celia grumbled. He kept a hand on her back as a precaution as she swayed. “I don’t blame you for asking the question. Or making the threat.”

Fergus laughed. “Ah. You got that part did you? Very good.”

Alistair used his free hand to do a little salute, then quickly signalled to a taxi that was pulling up. “Perfect timing.” They helped her fall clumsily into the back as the taxi driver made judgemental tutting sounds, Alistair sliding in to sit beside her. Fergus yelled his goodbyes which Celia seemed oblivious to as she slumped against the window with an exhausted sounding huff and then they were finally on their way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah - no way is this going to go smoothly. Not in this tropefest. I promised fluff and cliches and by the Maker I intend to deliver. Brace yourselves.


	11. Candour

Celia was very quiet for the whole trip back to their building and Alistair kept worrying she would fall asleep. He would periodically give her a gentle shake and each time she responded with feeble disgruntlement. After he had paid the driver, she allowed herself to be pulled from the taxi and gently shepherded inside without any major protests. Her dazed state worked to his advantage here but it also made him increasingly uneasy.

In the lift she was still uncommunicative, leaning against the wall and pressing her face against the glass of the mirror.

“You okay?” Alistair asked. She muttered incomprehensibly in response, sounding irritated with him. He glanced down and suddenly noticed her feet were bare. “What happened to you shoes?” he groaned. She mumbled something. “Celia. Where are you shoes?” he tried again.

She let out a sharp, cold laugh and looked over her shoulder, vaguely in his direction. “They _hurt_ me.”

“Yeah, but you still kind of need them,” he explained, feeling like the parent of a toddler.

“I don’t want them. Got it? Everyone is always pressuring me…”

“To wear shoes?”

“Stop telling me what to do with my life!” Celia snapped at him. “You’re not my…You’re not the boss of…” she trailed off and began to sing to herself, indistinctly and out of tune.

Alistair sighed. “Alright. You don’t have to wear shoes if you don’t want to. I’m not going to make you.”

“Ha,” she said smugly as if she’d won an argument.

“They must be in the taxi still,” he said, though he didn’t know when she had managed to take them off without him noticing. “Hope you weren’t too fond of them.”

She didn’t reply, just began singing to herself again and pressed her forehead against the mirror.

The doors opened and he stepped out onto their floor, realising just in the nick of time that she wasn’t following. His arm shot out to stop the doors from closing and they bounced back open. “Are you coming?” he asked. Face still against the mirror she shook her head. Alistair stepped back into the lift, jabbing the door open button with his elbow to buy time. At least if he was in there with her, she couldn’t get lost in the building somewhere. “This is our floor.”

Her shoulders rose and fell wearily. “Tired.”

“I know but we’re nearly there. You’re nearly home. Just a few more steps. I promise,” he wheedled and even though this persuaded her to take a few reluctant steps forward, he still had to half drag her out of the lift, prodding the door open button once more for good measure. Finally, they made it up the corridor to her apartment.

Already feeling like he had been on an odyssey and looking forward to going to bed himself, Alistair was still determined to see her safely inside first. He waited, watching Celia scrabbling at her doorhandle for a long time, her tongue poking out in concentration.

“What are you doing?” he asked her after this continued painfully without her making any progress towards actually opening it.

“My key doesn’t work in my door. _Is_ this my door? Is this the right building? Do I live here?” She began to struggle at the keyhole again. “It won’t work…”

Alistair moved to see better, looked down at what she was holding and blinked uncomprehendingly several times before informing her: “It doesn’t work because it isn’t a key.”

“Isn’t it?” she said with genuine surprise.

“It’s a teaspoon.”

“A spoon?” she asked with immense confusion, as if cutlery was a brand-new concept.

“Where did you even get that? And where were you _carrying_ it?”

She froze in slack jawed shock and didn’t answer, then her eyes narrowed and she looked at him accusingly. “Give me my key.”

“I don’t have your key. Why would I?” He didn’t know why he was still trying to rationalise with her.

“Where is it? Why are you hiding things from me!?”

“I don’t know where it is Celia. I’m not hiding anything from you,” he said, showing his open, empty palms in the fashion of a magician.

She fumbled around for a minute, feeling at her sides with obvious confusion. “Where’s my purse?”

Alistair felt his stomach drop. “You had a purse?”

Celia let out a sob. “I _always_ have a purse! Alistair! Where is my purse!?” She was clearly beginning to panic and her voice was growing increasingly loud. Conscious of their neighbours and not wanting her to have a full-blown meltdown, Alistair made soothing, ‘woah’ noises at her a few times, like he was calming a horse. Unfortunately, despite his best efforts, this seemed to have absolutely no effect on Celia.

“I’ve been robbed! Help!” she cried and then began to sob in earnest.

“No – Celia – Listen – You haven’t – Celia!” The volume of her distress rising, Alistair panicked and put a finger against her lips. She went briefly cross eyed trying to look at his hand then blinked at him: completely stunned but finally quiet, her eyes wide and tears clinging to her lashes.

“Shh. It’s just the neighbours…” he said, removing his finger carefully. She continued to blink at him. “Do you think maybe you left your purse behind? At the party? There was a coatroom: did you check it in?”

“I think so…” she said with dawning realisation “Oh no. Oh no! Why am I so _useless_? I can’t do anything right!” She slapped herself in the forehead. Hard. Alistair gently took her wrist.

“Hey now! Don’t do that. You’re not useless. It’s just been a really bad night,” he said desperately as tears began to well in her eyes again. “Don’t worry. I’ll go and get it and you can…um. You can…” She looked at him trustingly and he faltered. “I’m not even sure they’re still open: I think things were wrapping up,” Alistair admitted.

Her lower lip quivered. “It’s lost...gone forever.”

“No, it’s not lost it’s just…” he gave up finishing that sentence as she slid down the wall and lay on the carpet. “What are you doing down here?” he asked, crouching beside her.

“It’s my new home. I have nowhere else to go,” she told him despondently.

“Should I call a locksmith?” Alistair wasn’t really sure why he was asking her: she was clearly beyond rational thought.

“I don’t want any new friends,” she said, tracing a pattern in the air with her hand before placing it against his chest and trying to half-heartedly push him away.

“No, not to be your friend to – never mind.” Her arm flopped down and she closed her eyes. “Are you going to sleep? Celia, you can’t sleep here. Come on.” She made a pathetic grumbling noise. “Stay with me. Celia? Please?”

“Can’t stay with... Have to go back…Highever.”

Alistair winced. “I know. I know you do. But just for right now can you open your eyes?” He gently shook her shoulder, then when she ignored him, he took her firmly under the arms and hauled her to her feet with an encouraging: “Upsy daisy!” She let out a surprised whine of protest but he held her straight until he felt reasonably assured she wouldn’t crumple again, before steering her towards his own door with his arm around her.

There was no moment of making a conscious decision to bring her to his flat: just the need to get her somewhere better than the ground. Struggling with both Celia and his keys, Alistair wished he had had the foresight to unlock his door before dragging her to it, but he finally managed to get them both inside.

Celia wandered into his home and gazed around like a tourist at Disneyland as he filled a glass with water. “I don’t live here,” she said, then began to cackle manically.

“No. This is my flat. Next door. You’re going to have to stay here tonight.” She stopped laughing abruptly and glowered at him as he tried to hand her the glass. “If that’s okay? You’ve lost your keys. Do you remember?”

Her frown melted away. “Oh,” she said softly and to his relief, drank some of the water. “Okay Alistair. You’re so nice to me,” she said when she had finished.

Alistair shrugged awkwardly and retrieved the glass. “Not really. I mean: it’s no trouble.”

She took an unsteady step towards him with a strangely determined look on her face and Alistair fought the urge to retreat a step back in response. “You’re really nice. And handsome. Nice and handsome Alistair,” she told him, rocking a little on her feet.

He felt his face begin to colour even as his eyebrows shot up in amusement. “Celia you’re drunk. Sooo drunk.”

“And you’re sooo...” She pressed a palm to her forehead. “I don’t feel well.”

“Just through here,” he said, ushering her through to the bathroom, though it felt ridiculous given hers was in the same place. He shut the door behind her. After that he went to his bedroom, stripped off his good shirt and trousers quickly and threw on whatever abandoned shirt and trackpants were nearest him on the floor.

Then he drifted back towards the bathroom door, hovering uncertainly. He was uncomfortable leaving her alone but also cautious about intruding. Moments later he heard retching and coughing and cringed in sympathy, though he figured it was probably for the best. When the noise finally ceased, he knocked gently and called out her name. There was no answer and worried, he carefully opened the door, listening for a protest. “Celia?” he said quietly but still she didn’t reply. He peered in. She was on the floor next to the toilet, sitting awkwardly with her legs folded underneath her, looking up at him pathetically.

“Maker,” Alistair groaned and sprang into action, flushing the toilet and passing her a cup of water again. “You’re going to want to rinse and spit a few times,” he told her when she looked confused. She did so, then apparently exhausted, let out a sigh and slumped against the wall, closing her eyes. Alistair wet a hand towel and crouched down beside her, prising the glass from her hands before she dropped it on the tiles and added shattered glass to the already fraught scenario. “Is it okay if I wipe your face?” She nodded, otherwise remaining perfectly limp and still.

He gently began to clean her face, smearing makeup at first but at least making some progress. The cold towel seemed to rouse her and eventually she took it off him, finishing the job herself, for better or worse, before handing it back to him, her eyes still closed. He threw it carelessly in the direction of the sink then attempted to sweep back the strands of loose hair that were sticking to her damp skin. At this, Celia opened her eyes and looked steadily at him. Alistair stilled. His palm resting against her clammy cheek and his heart thudding in his throat, he stared back, conscious of how close they were and how he had effectively cornered her. But she was calm, and almost looked sober, if you could ignore her general dishevelment and the vague smell of vomit. He was afraid to move, concerned he might alarm her. Her skin was hot beneath his fingers, nearly feverishly so, but she reached up and placed her hand lightly over his to keep it against her cheek.

“I’ve messed up,” she finally whispered, snapping Alistair back out of his stupor.

“Hey,” he said, hastily pulling his hand free, tucking the rest of the hair behind her ears haphazardly before standing up. “Hey, we’ve all been here. Don’t think you’re special just for chucking your guts up. Come here.” He offered his hands and she took them, letting herself be pulled upright again. “You just need to get some sleep.” She nodded wearily and he led her to his bedroom. He noted self-consciously that the bed wasn’t made, but she was unlikely to be in a position to judge him for that anyway. “This is – what are you doing?” he asked in alarm as he registered that she was attempting to tug her dress from her shoulders

Mercifully she didn’t get very far: she appeared to have forgotten she needed to unzip it first. “Can’t sleep in this.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t,” she looked at him like he was insane.

“It really doesn’t matter. Just this once,” he said imploringly.

“I got sick on it,” she said, scowling at him and resuming her frantic scrabbling at the fabric.

“Alright! Maker’s breath.” He hurried to his dresser and grabbed her a clean hoodie and trackpants. “Wear these,” he told her, putting them on the end of the bed and quickly exiting. “Celia?” he called after giving her a good moment and fetching _another_ glass of water. He didn’t really know what else to do to help her and at least this made him feel proactive. “Are you alright?”

“I’m great?” she called back uncertainly and when he cautiously opened the door, praying to the Maker that she was clothed in some capacity, he was relieved to see her in the hoodie. Her dress was cast aside, twisted and crumpled as if she had wrestled with it.

She pointed to the pants on the floor looking disgruntled. “Didn’t fit.”

“It figures,” he said. “Worth a try.” It didn’t matter as his hoodie was so oversized on her, swamping her shorter frame making her look tiny, the long sleeve bunched up around her wrists. He took the glass to his bedside table and switched on the lamp. “Water,” he told her as she watched on with fascination. “Try sipping it slowly.”

Turning in a slow, unsteady circle, she looked about his bedroom with a vague expression on her face. “This looks like my flat only…tidier.”

“Tidier?” Alistair let out a snort. “First and only time someone is likely to tell me that.” She looked at him with befuddlement. “Your flat is next door. But you’re locked out tonight.”

She looked thoughtful, reaching up to work at loosening her miraculously still intact bun with clumsy fingers until hair tumbled over her shoulders, several bobby pins falling to the ground around her feet in the process. “How did we get here? Weren’t we…somewhere else?”

“Andraste’s ass you’re really…” he moderated his tone when she looked startled. “By taxi Celia.”

She combed her fingers lightly through her hair. “Oh. Yeah. Who lives here?”

“ _I_ do.”

She frowned as she contemplated this. “Thank you for having me,” she told him and he laughed, entertained by this sincere attempt at common courtesy even in her drunken state.

“Consider yourself welcome, now and any time you’re plastered and locked out in the future,” he said with a shrug.

Just as he wondered if he was going to have to convince her to lie down, she crawled onto the bed herself. She didn’t quite manage to get her head onto the pillow but curled into a ball near the headboard. “Sleep well,” he told her and walked to flick off the main light before he had time to pay too much attention to the way the hoodie had now ridden up around her bare thighs.

“Are you going?” her voice came uncertainly from behind him.

“Just to the sofa.”

“Don’t leave.”

Alistair hesitated. “I’ll just be in the next room.”

“I’m cold.”

“Well you have the duvet,” he told her. He could have pointed out that it was a lot more than what he was going to have on the sofa but that would have been ungracious. He waited but she made no effort to reach for it. In fact, she didn’t move at all, staying curled in a vulnerable little ball like a kitten. He sighed, and crossed the room in the dark, picking his way around a week’s worth of his own clothes on the floor. At the edge of the bed, he heaved the duvet up over her. “There,” he said, with what he hoped was convincing finality.

She didn’t acknowledge the gesture, but as he tried to back away, she suddenly rolled over and with unexpected agility, reached out for him, catching the fabric of his shirt and clenching it in a tight fist. Mumbling, her voice muffled by the bedding, Alistair just made out the words “Nate always left right away… but I don’t want to be on my own.”

“Maker,” Alistair said, feeling the blood drain from his face. “I’m not supposed to be hearing this Celia.”

“I care about him so much. But it was always so hard to be with him. It always…” She paused to yawn. “Felt like so much…work.”

“Okay. Alright,” he said soothingly, testing her tight grip by tugging experimentally at his shirt. “I think that’s enough introspection for one night.”

“How can it be hard to be with someone when you care about each other?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly.

She pulled at his shirt, forcing him to bend towards her slightly. He could just make out her features in the soft lamp light, her wide eyes searching his face with uncomfortable purpose. “You’re different. It’s always easy being with you.”

Alistair swallowed. “Yeah,” he said, momentarily lost for anything else to say.

“Why?”

“Why am I different or why is it easy?” he asked, trying to dodge the question. He succeeded, and Celia stared blankly at him and then contorted her face in extreme confusion as if he had posed an incredibly complex philosophical question.

She let out a tiny hiccup. “Nate always made me feel _wrong_. Always doing the wrong thing, saying the wrong thing. Just wrong, wrong, wrong. I was doing my best but he’d been with girls more experi- _experienced_ than me.”

“Celia,” Alistair said pleadingly. “This is really personal and I don’t know that you actually want to be telling me any of it.”

But Celia continued to ramble, giving him a doe-eyed look of trust. “I never knew what he wanted. He always seemed so far away. He said I was too _young_ to understand.” she said, slurring slightly. “He’s barely older...”

“Okay. Alright. Let’s talk about this in the morning. Or never. One of the two,” he suggested in a placating voice. She clenched his shirt, again forcing him incrementally closer to her. Alistair’s back was beginning to hurt from maintaining this stooped position over her.

“I always felt like I was disa-disappointing him. I tried. I really did. I tried for sooooo long in so many different ways. Whatever he wanted.”

“Wait. What?”

“Even when we were parked in his car one night and I gave him a–”

Alistair clapped his hands firmly over his ears. “Not listening! La la la la la!” Still her mouth went on moving until in desperation he half-yelled, “Just go to sleep!” then immediately felt awful.

Despite his instant regret, this appeared to have finally stopped her from speaking and he cautiously removed his hands. She gave him a dejected look. “I don’t think he ever even liked me. Who would?”

“Lots of people like you Celia. I do. I like you. You’re one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met.”

Her gaze shifted from his face without any trace of acknowledgment and she was quiet for a long time. Alistair reached for her hand, intending to loosen its grasp on the fabric of his shirt but as soon as his fingers brushed against hers, she spoke. He pulled his hands away quickly as if he had been caught out. “People wish I was dead. The messages say…Awful things. Every day. But everyone says I am lucky? How is that lucky?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“They really are bothering you, aren’t they? I had no idea...” And it was true: before tonight he had absolutely bought into her ruse of flippant indifference. Now he felt a fool for it.

“They scare me. I’m scared,” she said simply and Alistair felt a real stab of pain in his chest.

“They’re just words. You’re safe,” he told her as confidently as he could.

She let out a shaky sigh and to his surprise, suddenly released his shirt, rolling over towards the centre of the bed, turning her back to him. “Go then,” she said, sounding completely resigned. In the dark it was impossible to tell, but she made a few snuffling noises and he thought she might be crying.

He should have been relieved that she had given up and let him go. He should have quickly taken the opportunity to flee and put some distance between them. Alistair titled his head back and screwed his eyes shut. She sniffed again, more distinctly this time.

Against his better judgment, he walked to the other side of the bed and slipped under the duvet to lay down beside her.

And he definitely should have left it at that but when she reached for him, he rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms around her, feeling her press her hands and face against his chest. He resisted the impulse to recoil when her foot brushed against his: it was like ice. In hindsight he should have found her some socks but there was no way he was going to move and disturb her now that she was finally settling.

He rubbed her back and made a few gentle hushing sounds as her tears quickly created a little damp patch on his shirt. “It’s okay. You’re alright,” he told her periodically until she calmed slightly.

“Why didn’t you take my hand?” she asked eventually, her voice muffled and hard to make out.

It took him a moment to figure out what she was talking about. Earlier in the night, when Fergus had first arrived and she had reached out to him seemingly unconsciously. “Don’t know. Didn’t expect it.”

“Okay,” Celia said, apparently unworried by what he himself felt was an insubstantial explanation. After a time in which he thought she was going to sleep but apparently she was musing, she added, “You never expect anyone to be nice to you Alistair, do you? It makes me really sad.”

“Don’t be sad,” he quickly told her, concerned she might cry again

There was another period of quiet until Celia broke it with, “You’re so warm,” in the unmistakably appreciative tone of a compliment.

“I do my best.”

“It’s nice,” she said, and he felt, rather than heard her sigh before she wriggled closer, shifting to burying her face in the hollow of his neck. Instinctively, he tightened his embrace and rested his chin against the top of her head. Despite her state of disarray, all he could smell was her perfume, same as it had been in the taxi at the start of the night. She was still sniffing occasionally but it seemed to be abating and he followed her lead by saying nothing more.

Alistair had intended to stay awake. Part of him thought he might still detangle himself and sneak away once she was asleep.

But he didn’t.

* * *

Alistair wasn’t sure who had fallen asleep first, but Celia was definitely awake before him. In fact, it was a shock just to wake up and find her still wrapped tightly in his arms, and doubly so when he suddenly realised her eyes were open and she was looking right at him. He jerked guiltily and pulled away from her, feeling her arm slide from his waist in response and further shifting as she freed one of her ankles from where it was trapped under his. Despite his initial alarm, confusion and indecisiveness kept him in place and Celia didn’t stir further either, laying opposite him on her side blinking slowly. Alistair could still feel the warmth of her as his eyes raked searchingly across her face which was a little puffy and pale, except for the flush of her cheeks made rosy by sleep. Though he felt he should speak, her nearness was making it very hard to think of what to say. In the end she beat him to it.

“It’s okay,” Celia said in a barely audible whisper and Alistair could only assume this was in response to his panicked expression.

“We didn’t – you were just. I –” fighting off the remnants of his deep sleep, Alistair struggled to form a coherent sentence, his voice hoarse. He should get up. And run? No, that wouldn’t work: they were in his apartment. So instead he let fatigue and the comfortable bed win and didn’t move. “This isn’t what is looks like,” he tried, speaking softly because she was so close.

“It’s fine. There’s nothing for you to explain.”

“You remember?”

“Bits and pieces…” She met his eye. “And I trust you.”

The certainty in her voice made his chest tighten and he immediately wanted to hug her close again but he fought the urge. “Okay. You’re okay?”

“I am.” Celia told him reassuringly. “My head is pounding but…” She slowly closed her eyes and was quiet for so long he wondered if she had fallen back asleep. “I always get really clingy when I’m drunk. Sorry you had to witness that.” She opened her eyes again. “I’m sorry for everything.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he told her. Somehow speaking like this, her face so near that his eyes nearly blurred trying to focus on her, felt more intimate than actually holding her all night. Had he been drooling? He was very concerned he might have been drooling but was conscious of the fact that wiping his face to check would only draw attention to it if he had.

“What time is it?” Celia said, glancing towards the window then flinching at the bright rays of the sun peeking out from behind the blind.

Alistair flicked his wrist to check his watch then let his arm flop down on top of the duvet. “Just about midday.”

“What time did we get home?”

He didn’t miss the fact she had just referred to his flat as home. He knew what she meant but it still made his heart skip a beat. “Probably just before two.”

“Maker. I haven’t slept that solidly since I came to Denerim. Your bed must be comfier than mine.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“How come?”

“Not a priority. I can sleep _anywhere_. It’s like my superpower. I reckon I could drift off standing upright in a queue if I wanted to.”

“Wow,” she said, sounding genuinely impressed. “I’m jealous: it takes me ages to get to sleep.”

“Classrooms, trains, planes: anywhere. Eamon kept hounds and sometimes when I had no one else to talk to I’d go and sit with them and end up falling asleep right amongst them on the kennel floor,” he said with a laugh.

Celia’s face fell and her hand crept across the duvet and stopped nearer him. “Oh.”

He cleared his throat and quickly changed the subject: he hadn’t realised how pathetic that would sound out loud. “So this old thing is actually pretty flimsy,” he said, giving the mattress a hearty slap. “It was the cheapest they had at IKEA and I’m pretty sure I built it wrong. In fact, I’m certain I did: there were a lot of leftover parts.”

“Maybe getting blackout drunk helped then,” she said, cringing.

“You weren’t that bad.”

“It feels like I was that bad.” She laughed quietly. “Bet you won’t be in a hurry to accept an invitation from me again.”

“I had a great time,” he lied. She moved back slightly and raised her eyebrows at him. “Okay it was terrible,” he admitted, “But that wasn’t your fault.”

Her mouth twisted. “I really didn’t realise I had drunk that much. I don’t know what happened.”

Something occurred to Alistair and he propped himself up on his elbow to ask her seriously: “Do you think someone might have slipped you something?” He kicked himself internally and assessed her with freshly worried eyes. “I should have thought of this sooner. What if you needed the hospital?” he asked, his apprehension only growing. “How are you now?”

“Fine. I’m fine Alistair,” Celia assured him quickly. “Just embarrassed. No one would…I don’t think so, not at that kind of event.”

“You never know: there are creeps everywhere.”

“The whole night was a blur: I was completely overwhelmed and must have just lost track is all.”

“If you say so,” he said, trying to conceal his alarm and deciding not to press her further on the issue even as he made a mental note to talk to Duncan.

She rolled onto her back and blinked up at the ceiling, fiddling at her lobes to remove her earrings. One of them had left a slight imprint on her cheek from where she had lain on it. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come. I’m glad you did. Obviously. But I knew it would be awful and I asked you anyway.”

“I really don’t mind. It wasn’t all bad.”

She yawned, stretching and dropping her earrings on the bedside table. “No? I can’t think of a single good part.”

 _‘This’_ Alistair thought but instead said: “When you swooped in and rescued me from that nasty scholar. Ordinarily I would say swooping is bad but I was so relieved to see you.”

“Oh,” Celia laughed again. “Farthington. When I saw him talking to you across the room, I cut off my conversation so quickly to get to you. I tried to put my bruschetta back on the bar without looking and dropped it into someone’s glass by accident.”

Alistair fluttered his eyelashes, saying wistfully: “My hero, dashing over to save me.” She laughed again then groaned and slapped a palm over her eyes. “You’re worried,” he said seriously.

“It’s just a hangover.”

“I mean you’re more worried about the threats you’re getting than you have been letting on.” Celia went very still. “That’s a normal reaction. You shouldn’t feel like you have to hide it.”

“I’m not trying to hide anything. It’s more that if I think about it too much, I won’t be able to function. I wouldn’t be able to keep working. I’d shut down. And that’s what they want, right?” She slid her hand down her face. “But yes: I am worried.”

“I’ll be with you. I’m there to protect you.”

“I thought you were there to protect Tevinter’s ancient, one of a kind, priceless book?”

“What book?” he joked.

“Alistair,” she said fondly in the way that always made his ears go hot. She smiled softly. Her hair was flat on one side where she had slept, while the other was sticking out in every direction with static. Even though her eyes were bloodshot and her breath was sour she was still so beautiful. Alistair’s eyes kept flicking to where the hoodie, his hoodie, had been pulled askew to reveal her collar bone. He wanted to push the fabric back further. He wanted to bury his hands in her hair and kiss her, morning breath and all. And he wanted to lie there all day, just staring at her as the patch of sunlight from his window made slow progress across the wall. It hurt him that he couldn’t. Then again, it seemed that as long as neither of them moved or spoke again they might just stay like that forever. Alistair wasn’t sure he would have minded if they did. But some infuriating, practical part of his brain forced him to speak and the magic was broken.

“Do you feel like some breakfast?” She scrunched up her face in disgust prompting him to chuckle. “Too soon I guess.” He sat up properly and stretched, twisting his torso from side to side, his back suffering slightly from being in one position all night. Not that he was complaining. “You should definitely have some water. And maybe try some dry toast?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose then lay her palm flat over her eyes again. “I shouldn’t. I mean, I should really just get home and shower for maybe three hours or so.”

“Stay there for a second,” he said, leaping up. He quickly filled another glass in the kitchen, and grabbed a small box from a drawer. Celia had sat up crossed legged but with the duvet still tucked firmly around her. She watched him curiously as he returned and then let out a tiny moan of relief when she saw what he was holding.

“If those are painkillers I’ll love you forever.” She said it flippantly, but his heart still did a somersault.

“Yep,” he said, lobbing the painkillers so they landed on the duvet within reach then sitting on the edge of the bed to hand her the glass a bit more gently. “Careful: I might hold you to that promise.”

“Honestly, you’re the best human I have ever met.”

“Human? Does that mean you prefer Mittens to me?”

“It’s a given.”

“I’m neither surprised nor offended.”

She looked thoughtful as she briefly skimmed the instructions on the painkiller packet and popped out a couple of the pills into the palm of her hand. Before she took them, she looked up at him apprehensively. “I’ve behaved really unforgivably.”

“Too bad because I do forgive you. Sorry to defy expectations but that’s just my personality: unpredictable and impulsive as always.”

But Celia was not amused. “I put you in a difficult position last night and all you have done is treat me with kindness. Your job…” she trailed off and took a tentative sip of water.

“Is irrelevant. I went with you last night as a friend, remember?”

She took the pills along with another drink then shot him a small smile. “What did I do to deserve you?”

Alistair shook his head. “I’m the lucky one. I was so bored until you turned up.”

“I’m glad you found my utter humiliation entertaining,” she said with mock sternness.

“I didn’t mean this. I meant…” he waved a hand, “In general.” He had realised she was joking but still found himself answering defensively.

“I know what you meant,” she told him.

If there was somewhere he was meant to take the conversation from there, Alistair didn’t know it. So instead he cleared his throat and said: “There’s no hurry. Don’t forget you dress though,” pointing in the general direction of the crumpled garment.

He left the room so she could get up at her own pace. Eventually she emerged, blinking in a pained way at the brightness of the living room, her dress draped over her arm.

“I’d better go. Mittens is probably worried about me.” Alistair doubted that but nodded. She plucked at the hoodie. “I should…”

“Give it back to me later. No urgency.”

“Thanks.” He walked her to the door, opened it and with a rush of hot dread, saw Wynne walking calmly up the corridor carrying a jumper of his she had taken to mend some weeks earlier. He quickly used his body to try and stop Celia from exiting, throwing his arms out to fill the doorframe, but she piped up with a loud: “What’s going on?”

Wynne looked up and spotted them both. “Celia?” she said with surprise.

Celia ducked under his arm. “Hi Wynne!” she said cheerfully as she stepped out. There was a beat, then Celia looked down at herself and seemed to remember her own circumstances: carrying her dress from the previous night, mussed hair, barefoot and dressed only in his hoodie.

The three of them stayed very still: Wynne with a vague look of amusement on her face as she regarded the two of them, Celia like a deer in headlights and Alistair wishing that he could just evaporate into thin air and disappear.

“It’s not –” Celia began frantically pushing the sleeves of the hoodie back up from her wrists where they had fallen to cover her hands.

“Don’t worry about scandalising me dear: I’ve been round the block a few times in my many years,” Wynne told her brightly.

“But it really isn’t –” Alistair tried.

“Were you just off Celia? I shouldn’t keep you,” Wynne told her.

“Alright,” Celia said, sounding like a child with her hand caught in the sweet jar. “I’ll um, get going. I’ll probably see you both…sometime,” she said as she scurried past them up the corridor. She got to her door, brushed her fingers over the handle and looked back at Alistair with wide-eyed panic.

“My keys?”

He slapped his forehead. “That’s…This was the whole problem Wynne. Celia left her bag when we – she was out last night. She got locked out of her flat.”

“So you kindly offered her shelter? How very gallant Alistair.” Wynne said teasingly. Alistair tried to give her a severe look but it only prompted the woman to smile more widely.

“I need to go back and find…” Celia began uncertainly, glancing down at herself again.

“You had better come back inside,” Alistair told her. “I’ll go.” Celia slunk back towards him, keeping to the wall as if it might prevent her from being observed.

Wynne handed Alistair his jumper and said with kind insistence that couldn’t possibly be met with refusal: “You can borrow my car: it will be much quicker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't register how many glasses of water Alistair was fetching (is someone keeping an official tally?) until a very late edit of this chapter and ultimately decided to leave them all in because it just felt right. Poor boy: he's doing his best.


	12. Old Acquaintances

It was a quick trip there and back to collect Celia’s purse, thanks largely to Wynne’s car and the complete lack of Sunday morning traffic. Alistair entered his apartment victoriously, holding the purse in front of him. “Got it!” he called to Celia but she was nowhere to be seen in the living area.

Under the circumstances, he felt it unlikely she had wandered out for a stroll. Poking his head back into each room searching for her, he found her in his bed again with the duvet up to her chin, her eyes open but staring blankly at the ceiling. When she didn’t notice his arrival, he knocked lightly on the doorframe and she jolted guiltily. “Make yourself right at home” he told her, punctuating the statement with an amused chuckle.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I don’t have any excuse except that I feel absolutely revolting and I was really cold and I desperately wanted to lay down.”

“Good excuses,” he assured her. “And I know: it gets chilly in here. I think your flat gets more sun.”

“When I’m back in Highever I’m going to get you a ram wool blanket. They’re so warm,” she told him dreamily. “Actually, there’s a place near home that are famous for knitting them. I’ll post one to you. It’ll be the first thing I do.”

“Great,” he said, trying not to sound deflated at the mention of her leaving. “That would be wool-nderful.”

“Ugh,” said Celia even as she let out a reluctant laugh. “That was bad even by your standards. Sorry again. I’m saying that a lot lately, aren’t I?” She let out an embarrassed sounding sigh. “I meant to get up when I heard you coming in but I guess I just completely zoned out.”

“It’s no problem. Stay there all day if you want to,” he joked, while simultaneously meaning it wholeheartedly.

“Don’t tempt me,” she said through a yawn.

“Your purse is ready when you are,” Alistair told her, swinging it about a bit. “Though there was a little confusion at the venue as they didn’t seem convinced it belonged to me. A bit narrowminded of them frankly. We figured it out eventually. Oh, and I got your coat too,” he held it up to show her.

“Oh yes, I’d forgotten. Amazing,” Celia said without making any move to get up. “What about my dignity. Was that there perchance?”

“Might be in a pocket,” Alistair said seriously, shaking the coat a bit as if to check.

“Then there’s hope for me,” she said with a wry smile. “Actually, I don’t suppose you’ve seen my shoes anywhere? I looked about but didn’t have any luck.”

Alistair pulled a pained face. “They might be gone.”

“Gone?”

“Forever.”

“Oh Fade! They were my favourites,” she said, pushing herself up on her elbow.

“They weren’t favourites last night, that’s for sure,” he said with a laugh. “You must have taken them off in the taxi. I’m afraid I didn’t notice until too late.”

She waved a limp hand at him. “Don’t apologise: you had enough to contend with.” Then she added, more to herself than to him: “I need to move.”

“Take your time,” he told her and she responded by flopping backwards onto the pillow.

“No. I’m getting up.”

He leaned against the doorframe, raising his eyebrows with amusement as she lay totally inert. “I can see that. Very clearly. Did those painkillers make any difference?”

“Yes. Hugely,” she said, but nonetheless let out a groan like she was wounded as she threw back the covers, heaving herself upright with what was obviously an enormous amount of effort. Finally out of bed, she padded towards him looking adorably groggy.

Celia glanced briefly around his bedroom in vague befuddlement as if seeing it for the first time, which she effectively was, Alistair figured. He had always rested on the sofa when she was there after his concussion and as for last night: she hadn’t exactly been in a fit state to observe _anything_.

Perhaps predictably, her gaze quickly fixed on his bookshelf, and she froze, her posture stiffening. He waited for a long time for her to say something but she just went on staring intently at the shelf, probably judging him for his meagre and uninspiring collection of literature.

“I never claimed to be a big reader,” he told her. But Celia didn’t respond, and was now moving towards the bookshelf slowly, a trancelike look on her face. “Sorry: did you want to borrow something?” he asked in jest. “I can recommend the oven manual as particularly compelling. Beautiful prose.” She looked back at him but her face was grave. “Are you alright?” Alistair asked worriedly, wondering if her hangover had worsened now she had stood up. Celia said nothing, instead pulling a book off the shelf. Alistair recognised the dark green cover and gold embossed lettering immediately: it was the book he had brought back from Redcliffe. He had only recently unearthed it from his duffle bag a placed it up there. “That’s what you’re after?” He couldn’t begin to comprehend her expression: she looked shellshocked. “I’m sorry: is it a little too lowbrow for your taste?” he joked as she went on staring at it.

She shook her head slowly, then flipped it open. “Where did you get this? Did you buy it?”

“No. Someone gave it to me. Ages ago. When I was a kid.”

She squinted at the inside cover. “I _know_.”

“Huh?”

“I think I did.”

“What?” he said, brows knitting together in confusion. He was finding it hard to process what she was actually saying because she looked so serious and it worried him.

“I think I gave this to you.” Celia approached him cautiously, holding the book out and pointing. There, right below her finger, were some initials handwritten in pencil that Alistair may have once known about but had long since forgotten. “I’m _‘C.C.’_ Cece. Celia Cousland.”

She might have slapped him he was so stunned. “No you’re not,” he said after a long time.

Celia broke into a smile. “Yes. I am. We were travelling south when Dad was on a conference circuit. We stopped in Redcliffe to stretch our legs. I met a boy. I met _you_.”

“Maker’s Breath. It was you? It was you!” he began to laugh in disbelief and Celia did too. For a time neither of them could say anything and they could only communicate in a mutual series of scoffs, head shakes and ridiculous grins. When he could finally speak again, all Alistair managed to foolishly say blurt out was: “It _was_ you,” again. He looked down at the book in her hands and felt all the emotions of that day rushing back to him. His powerlessness at being forced to leave Redcliffe, the fear, the isolation. Then a strange girl paying him more attention in fifteen minutes than he had received at home for days. Weeks even.

“This is surreal,” Celia said, snapping him back to the present. “You must have thought I was so interfering, even back then. Nothing’s changed I guess.”

“You told me about what flavour of crisps you had picked and why, passionately and at length.”

“I remember,” Celia winced at the memory. “I was so obnoxious!”

Alistair’s voice was strained when he next spoke. “I was in the midst of a bit of a kindness drought at that moment in my life. The gesture meant a lot to me. I didn’t tell you that at the time. I…I always wished I had.”

“That’s alright. I always knew it had gone to a good home.”

“I took it with me to boarding school. I must have read it a hundred times,” he told her as Celia resumed her pouring over the book.

She shook her head uncomprehendingly as she flipped through the pages, pausing occasionally to examine a passage or colour plate. “I still thought about you. Years later, even recently. I wondered if you were doing okay. But I never thought it was possible I’d find you again.” She looked up and their eyes met, expressions equally as delighted and bewildered. “Turns out I already had.”

“Me neither. It’s…”

“Kind of unbelievable,” she finished for him.

“Yeah,” Alistair agreed with a brief laugh. “But it also somehow makes sense.”

“It does.” Celia turned the book over in her hands, flipping through the pages rapidly once again then opening the cover as if to check her initials were still there. “I knew it felt like I’d known you forever.” She closed it and fondly ran her index finger over the embossed lettering on the cover.

“It’s still yours. You can take it back: I don’t mind.”

“No!” she said quickly. “No: I like that you have it. I want you to keep it.”

He used his free hand to grasp it when she held it out to him. “Thank you. For then and for now.” There was a moment where they both gripped the cover and looked at each other, then Celia turned her face away and let it go. Alistair made a point of fussing over where to put the book down, as if it was the most difficult decision he had ever been confronted with, just to buy himself a moment in which to compose himself.

“I should be thanking _you_. I don’t know what would have happened to me last night if you hadn’t been there,” Celia said with the barest shudder. “You probably saved my career. And who knows what else.”

“Fergus would have taken care of you,” Alistair pointed out.

Celia looked surprised and Alistair wondered if she had forgotten her brother had been in attendance. “But Fergus wouldn’t have stayed half so long if it wasn’t for you,” Celia explained. “He meant to just pop in I think, probably for ten minutes.” She shook her head slightly. “No: he would have been long gone if you weren’t there keeping him entertained. He clearly really likes you.”

“Ah. Right,” Alistair said self-consciously.

Celia yawned again, stretching her arms over her head, before thinking twice with a blush and tugging the hoodie down, apparently realising this gesture had begun to inch the hem up her legs. She glanced at him, didn’t quite meet his eye and looked down at her conspicuously bare feet. “Can you be honest with me for a second?”

“I always am.”

“Theirin Industries?”

“That was an exclusion not a –” Alistair suddenly remembered that Celia had no idea her parents had hired Warden Watch to put him on as additional out of hours security. “Okay point taken.”

“So tell me the truth?”

He clapped his hand over his heart as if making a vow and said solemnly, “I promise. About what in particular?”

“Obviously I’ve already made a complete and utter fool of myself…just generally.” He made a noise of protest and she shushed him. “It’s not up for debate. I know I have. But did I say anything um…Without a filter did I…I know sometimes in the past I’ve…I hope I didn’t say anything odd? Or overshare…just anything?”

“Nope,” he lied without hesitation. She narrowed her eyes and gave him a discerning look as she tried to judge the truthfulness of his response. “Except that you hate reading and want to burn all books. And that you can communicate telepathically with nugs which I thought was unlikely but you never know. And that you think I’m not getting enough cheese in my diet. You were very emphatic about that point.” He may as well have set off fireworks it was such an obvious attempt to distract her but perhaps because she was so exhausted it actually worked.

She laughed lightly and replied with a drawn out: “Suuuure.”

“Honestly you weren’t making any sense. Didn’t have a clue what you were saying for the most part,” Alistair said, walking the tightrope of trying to be casual without _sounding_ like he was trying to be casual. “Complete gibberish.”

Apparently believing him, Celia looked slightly more relaxed and grinned. “The last twenty-four hours have been…Maker. I feel wretched, and I must look a disaster,” she said, raking a hand through her already tousled hair.

Celia was wearing his hoodie with such comfortable ease it might have always been hers, and while she was undeniably tired: telling shadows under her eyes along with a bit of smudged eyeliner, it did nothing to compromise how beautiful he found her. As always.

“You look…” he said then stopped himself from saying ‘perfect’. And he would have meant it, though she surely would have thought he was joking. “Like you had a rough night,” he finished.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “To say the _least_. You’re a despicable flatterer.”

“You’re easy to flatter,” he replied with a shrug, and realising he was still holding her bag and coat, offered them to her.

Celia smiled ambiguously at him, accepting her belongings, stopping to gather up her dress too before clutching them all in a bundle to her chest. He walked her to the front door. “Well,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll see you later.”

“You bet,” he told her and shoved his hands in his pockets. Celia turned towards the exit, turned back to him, then turned away again, uncertainly biting her bottom lip. “Are you still missing something?” he asked.

She unceremoniously dropped her armful of possessions to the ground. “Kind of,” she said and rapidly closed the distance between them, crashing against him for a firm hug.

* * *

Still reeling from the revelation that he and Celia had met as children, Alistair took the lift in a daze down to the ground floor and knocked on Wynne’s door. “I topped up the petrol and reverse parked it for you,” Alistair told her when she answered, offering the car keys hooked on one finger. “Thanks for letting me take it: it was much faster.”

“Celia has been safely escorted back to her own apartment I assume? No further interventions or timely rescues required on your part?” Wynne asked as she accepted the keys and gestured for him to sit down at the table which was laid out for tea complete with a freshly baked apple cake. He knew better than to refuse and complied without argument. “It looked as if you two had a very eventful night indeed.”

“Yes, I uh, her keys were…So what happened was we went to – she asked me to go to this…so we were at that and then -” Alistair shifted guiltily in his seat. Why did every explanation sound so dubious all of a sudden?

“It’s alright Alistair,” Wynne told him patiently.

“Is it? You’re not going to tease me endlessly. Or try to explain where babies come from again?”

“Well you really do need to learn someday.”

“Maker’s breath! I _know_!” he said, his face heating even though he had totally walked himself into that one. “But it was nothing. She was just locked out. I couldn’t very well leave her to sleep in the corridor, could I?”

“No, you couldn’t possibly do that.” Wynne smiled benevolently at him as Alistair squirmed.

“I can only imagine the telling off you would have given me if you’d have come up just now and found her curled up on the floor outside her door, especially if it transpired that I had chosen to abandon her like that.”

“Alistair –”

“You’re acting like this is just _ever_ so _amusing_ but what was I supposed to do?”

“Alistair I –”

“I didn’t plan for this to happen and I certainly wasn’t revelling in it. It may be funny to you but she was really unwell and upset and I was just –”

“Alistair!” Wynne said in a loud, commanding voice that made his mouth snap shut obediently. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable or guilty talking about Celia in front of me. Or like you have to go on the defensive.” He shot her a sceptical look and she laughed, sliding a huge piece of cake onto his plate. “I deserve that. I did give you rather a hard time about it all. Cream?”

“No thanks. And has something changed? With you…about…Me and Celia? Not that there is a ‘me and Celia’,” he clarified quickly.

“Yes. I suppose something has changed.”

“Really?” he said with obvious disbelief.

“I truly believe that Celia is a good person for you to have in your life. She brings out another side of you, and I dare say you do the same for her, though I don’t know her half so well.”

Alistair was still distrustful as he picked up his fork and began to dismantle his piece of cake, suddenly conscious of the fact he hadn’t had breakfast. “You do? I thought you said we were spending too much time together.”

“I did say that. And I’ve had more time to think about it since.”

He swallowed his mouthful. “It always worries me when you’ve been thinking. Pondering. Scheming even…” he trailed off, reaching for his teacup.

“I’ve changed my mind about what I said to you. It wasn’t good advice.”

Alistair swallowed a mouthful of tea that was far too hot and felt it scald his throat all the way down. “ _What?_ ” He didn’t think he’d ever heard Wynne admit to being wrong for as long as he’d known her.

“I was speaking to you as a cynical old woman who has made too many mistakes in her life. I should have been speaking to you as an old woman who has missed a lot of chances instead.”

“What are you saying Wynne?”

“You can spend too much time with another person, that is true. But don’t hold yourself back from something, or someone who makes you happy. Even fleetingly. Even if it has to end.”

Alistair was still in shock. “Right. Well then. That’s…that.”

“Forgive me for being too protective of you. A lot of people have let you down Alistair: I’d hate to ever be counted among that number.”

He shook his head to dismiss the idea at once. “I know you always have good intentions Wynne. And your opinions are important to me.”

She smiled widely at him but without showing any teeth. “But you don’t always need my blessing, as you have proven.”

“I would like it all the same. If there were ever cause to require a blessing. Which there isn’t currently. But hypothetically speaking: your blessing would mean a lot to me.”

“Then you have it,” she told him decisively.

“So you’re saying I _can_ go to the ball and dance the remigold in my pretty, pretty frock then?”

Wynne narrowed her eyes at him. “If you are implying that I am the wicked stepmother in this scenario I am going to be very disappointed in you.”

Alistair dropped his cake fork with a clatter. “N-no!”

* * *

Alistair stretched and rolled his shoulders as he made his way up to his flat in the lift. After the hectic events of Saturday night, he had enjoyed a quiet Sunday afternoon and was just returning from a run. The first hint of a sunset was visible through the window at the end of the hall as he approached his door. Tired and distracted as he was, he nearly tripped over something on the ground.

It was a parcel along with the hoodie Celia had borrowed, neatly folded. Just from picking it up he could smell it was freshly washed. He draped it over his arm and examined the parcel. There was a note taped to the side reading: ‘ _I wanted to get you something to say: ‘thanks for not abandoning me facedown drunk in a gutter somewhere’. I saw you had a few of these on your windowsill when I was lurking in your apartment and you weren’t there. In hindsight I realise that sounds creepy but I have already committed to the idea so here it is. I liked this one best because he looks like he is smiling. Alistair – thank you. From your ‘old’ friend._ ’ And then she had drawn a little heart.

He tore the paper with no small amount of curiosity. It was another dinosaur figure; one he didn’t already have. An ankylosaurus painted with a particularly goofy looking smile, just as she had described. He felt a momentary flush of shame: he really should have hidden those…but he was quickly distracted by the way she had signed the note with the heart, taking a moment to brush his thumb over it curiously.

Rubbing his neck, he peered up the hall at her closed door as if he might find answers daubed across it in paint.

Someone slapped him on the back and he nearly jumped out of his skin. “You planning on going inside? Or are you just going to stand here all night?” Carroll asked.

“Maker,” Alistair said in a wheezy voice as he hastily folded up the note about three times more than necessary. “How did you creep up on me like that?”

“Took the stairs. Gotta get in that cardio. Looks like you had the same thought,” his friend said, flexing and glancing at Alistair’s workout clothes. Alistair chuckled and nodded awkwardly as Carroll frowned. “You forgot I was coming? I messaged you yesterday.”

“Yeah. It must have slipped my mind. I had kind of a big night,” he explained then instantly wished he hadn’t.

Carroll waited expectantly as Alistair busied himself with unlocking his door. Realising he wasn’t going to continue, Carroll let out a derisive snort. “So that’s where you’re gonna end the story? Throwing out a ‘big night’ then leaving me hanging? Alistair: you’re such a bloody tease.”

“It was nothing. You know my idea of a big night is watching more than one episode of True Crime in a row and ordering in a mild curry,” Alistair deflected.

“That’s true,” Carroll laughed as Alistair ushered him inside and closed the door. “Such a grandpa. Are you ever planning on getting a life or…?”

“Not on the schedule for today. What was it you were after again?” He was fairly eager to get rid of Carroll: he was thirsty, his sweat was rapidly cooling on his skin and he wanted a shower…And above all to reread Celia’s note about eight times in private.

“Your bat and wickets. A few of us are driving to the coast next week and thought we’d play some beach cricket. If the weather holds anyway. You still can’t make it?”

Alistair discretely tucked the present and note from Celia out of sight in the kitchen. “Working. Just used up all my leave with Eamon and bashing in my face like an idiot. And I only have the bat sorry.”

“Ahhh, never mind. We’ll make something up for the wickets then. Hey, speaking of your work: did I tell you I met Celia at Leliana’s Midwinter thing after you went M.I.A?”

“No,” Alistair said bluntly. He was still holding the hoodie Celia had returned and he pulled it on.

“Strange girl. She was in the kitchen trying to do the dishes. What in the Fade, right?”

“Huh.”

“And someone said she’s your neighbour? Is that for real? Maybe I’ll go say ‘hi’.”

“She not in,” Alistair bluffed: he had no clue if this was the case or not.

“Shame. Sooo, you talk to her a fair bit, right? Has she mentioned me at all? Since the party? I meant to get her number but she disappeared.”

“No. Not once. Shockingly,” Alistair said in a surly voice that he couldn’t seem to help but he hoped Carroll wouldn’t pick up on.

“Weird. Thought we hit it off actually. She wouldn’t stop flirting.”

Alistair scoffed. “Somehow I doubt that. A toaster could stay still long enough and you would think it was flirting with you.”

“Seriously man. She wouldn’t stop playing with her hair. The signals were off this planet.”

Alistair felt something loosen in his chest and let out a gratified laugh. “Hate to be the one to crush your dreams here but she only does that when she’s nervous. And probably not in the way you’re hoping.”

Carroll looked genuinely taken aback. “You reckon?”

“I know.”

Carroll studied him carefully, giving Alistair a look of suspicious interest. “How can you be so sure?”

“I just am.” When Carroll’s expression twisted with scepticism Alistair gestured broadly. “Maybe I actually pay attention to people instead of just automatically assuming everyone likes me like you do.”

“Everyone _does_ like me.”

“That is demonstrably untrue, just from taking an anonymous survey of the people in this room.”

Carroll guffawed heartily at that, and Alistair laughed too, raising an apologetic hand to show he had been joking. “Ah well. Worth a try. She had a nice enough face. An okay body too, though that jumper wasn’t giving much away. Definitely a worthwhile rack there.” Alistair’s laughter stopped abruptly though his friend didn’t seem to notice. “Maybe you have some insight? Is it jumpers all day, every day or she ever get hot at the library, eh?”

“Just not on, Carroll.”

“What? I’m not allowed to window shop now?”

“Don’t talk about her like that.” Alistair’s reply was terse, his voice unmistakably edged with anger but Carroll was undeterred, clearly enjoying himself immensely.

“Touchy! You going to pretend you hadn’t noticed then?”

Alistair went into the kitchen so Carroll wouldn’t see his face. Or so he wouldn’t have to look at Carroll’s face. One of the two. Or both. He busied himself in a cupboard, grabbing a glass. “Bat is at the bottom of my wardrobe. It’s open: you can’t miss it. Right at the front.”

“Nice! Thanks!” Carroll called and disappeared into his bedroom. Alistair took a few steadying gulps of water. Carroll was generally a good guy, but he could be pigheaded and obnoxious once he got going on something. Celia truly hadn’t mentioned she had met him. Alistair swirled the water glass thoughtfully. He hoped that was because she found him so unremarkable, not because Carroll been too much of a prat. He raised the glass to drink again.

“Why didn’t you just say outright you’re fucking her?”

Alistair choked on his water, coughed and wiped his chin with his sleeve. “ _What?_ ”

“All that bullshit about her being nervous because she’s touching her hair? And you could have just said: ‘mate, I’m already tapping that.’ I would have backed off, alright?” Carroll said peevishly, giving the cricket bat an experimental swing as far as it would go in the confines of the flat.

“I’m _not_ sleeping with her,” Alistair insisted, the pitch of his voice rising. “Can you stop fixating on this? On her? It’s really not okay.”

Carroll snorted, tapped the end of the bat on the ground a few times. “So why are her earrings on your bedside table? Or are they someone else’s?”

Alistair felt all the air disappear from the room like he had been sucked into a vacuum. “They’re not…There’s nothing – It’s not like that…” he stumbled trying to find even an adequate lie a for this situation and failing, knowing Carroll wouldn’t for a second accept the truth.

“I just don’t get you and this secrecy. It’s really not a big deal. Why are you acting like a housewife caught blowing the milkman?”

“None of this is any of your business, regardless of what I do with the milkman.” Alistair was trying to be casual, to make a joke, to play it all off as nothing. As anyone who knew him would expect him to. But in reality, he was grinding his teeth and resisting the urge to punch the smug smile right off Carroll’s face. He wasn’t normally inclined towards violence but he was being tempted into making an exception.

“It’s kind of a relief to tell the truth. You’re actually a bit of a dark horse right? None of us knew. We all thought you were a bit odd or something. I mean, I can respect being picky but you were like, impenetrable. Fort Alistair. Even Cullen has a libido.” Carroll laughed, then tipped his head back and sighed. “We all wondered what you were waiting for.”

“Had no idea my love life was a spectator sport. Should I put on some popcorn or are you good?”

“I would just kill to know what finally won you over though? Surely you can give me that? You’ve hit it off with way hotter girls and then just left them totally cold, man. I’ve seen it happen! So why her? She doesn’t seem that special.”

“Back off,” Alistair said warningly. He was out of both jokes and patience, his temper wearing dangerously thin, but Carroll snickered. “We’re not having this conversation.”

“Come on. Seriously?”

“I mean it. Get out.”

“Andraste’s pants! Okay you’re sensitive about it: I get it.” He said in a condescending, placating tone that set Alistair’s teeth on edge, but at least he was finally heading for the door. “I’m just happy for you okay? About time you got off the bench and joined the field with the big boys if you know what I mean. We’re mates still, right? You must have wanted to kick my teeth in a minute ago, though I maintain what I said about her tits,” he chuckled. Alistair mentally retracted his note on Carroll generally being a ‘good guy’ and wanted to kill him, just a tiny bit. Carroll slung the bat over his shoulder and strutted across the room. “Thanks for this mate. I’ll see you at training.”

“Right.” Alistair said nothing more. He just opened the front door and waited for Carroll to walk out, slamming it behind him. Finally alone, he leaned against the wall and let out a groan so loud Celia might have heard it next door.

* * *

Cullen was already working out when Alistair arrived at the mostly empty gym later that week. He waited for his friend to finish his reps before he spoke. Seeing Alistair hovering, Cullen jumped right to the point by asking: “What is it?” as soon as he finished.

“I was wondering if you’d heard anything from any of the other guys?” Cullen shrugged and looked impassive. “Does that shrug mean you haven’t heard anything? Or that you’ve heard something and you’re not interested in discussing it further? Because all of your extensive collection of stoic shrugs are so similar that I find them hard to translate sometimes.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I mute all the group chats without reading them.”

“Of course you do,” Alistair muttered under his breath, then cleared his throat. “Celia slept at my place the other night.”

Genuine shock processed on Cullen’s face. “ _Slept?_ ”

“Alcohol was involved but yes, _just_ slept.”

“What do you expect me to say?”

“I just wanted to see your look of disappointment actually. Because I already felt a bit low but I thought your judgemental scowl could really take it to the next level. So thanks: you’ve exceeded my expectations and I am now at rock bottom.”

“Are you trying to tell me you’re in a relationship with her?”

“No. A clear and distinct no. But she stayed in my bed.” Cullen gave him a narrow look. “So did I,” he confessed. This wasn’t actually where he had anticipated taking the conversation but Cullen seemed so appalled that Alistair guessed he may as well just be completely honest.

Alistair watched his friend pause to wipe his face with a towel, possibly trying to compose himself. “You’ve really got yourself tangled up in this,” Cullen finally said, his expression neutral once more.

“You mean I’ve made a mess of things.”

“Yes.” Cullen sighed at Alistair’s downcast expression. “I understand you can’t help the way you feel.”

“Yet somehow I can’t imagine you ever getting into the same situation.”

“I would have given up the assignment as soon as I realised my capacity for professionalism had been compromised by my having feelings for a client,” Cullen answered, without hesitation.

Alistair should have remembered that Cullen was more robot than human. “Yeah, you would have. I think I missed my chance though: I’m pretty well compromised already.”

“You could quit at any time. Just tell Duncan you need to be reassigned.”

“I could. But I also _can’t_. I want to be around her. All the time.”

Cullen grimaced. “That just makes it sound like you need the space even more.”

“What’s the point of having space now when she’ll leave Denerim soon anyway?”

“It might make you less miserable when she does go.”

Alistair felt himself deflating more and more. “Not seeing her would make me miserable _now_.”

“Could you try to not think about it?” Naturally that would be Cullen’s idea of a solution: just turn off how he felt like a tap. As if it was that simple.

“It’s really not an option at this point,” Alistair said flatly.

Cullen seemed contemplative as he wiped down the equipment. “Do you think your…interest in her might just be a construct of these circumstances?” he asked, without looking at Alistair.

“Obviously. That's kind of the point. None of this would have happened if she hadn’t come to Denerim and moved in next door.”

“But outside of being in such close quarters, and this kind of…artificial co-dependency, do you think what you’re feeling is real?”

“Real?” Alistair repeated uncomprehendingly.

“I’m suggesting these feelings,” Cullen said with unconcealed discomfort, “may just be a side effect of being forced to spend so much time together. That what you imagine you…That it will pass as soon as she leaves.”

“Based on all your credentials in the area of ‘feelings’? And all those long-term relationships you’ve been in huh?” Alistair snapped.

Cullen to his credit, did not look offended. “You remember who you’re speaking to? I came here to work out. You’re the one who wanted to talk about this.”

Alistair slapped a palm to his forehead, his temper fading as swiftly as it had flared. “This is getting to me. I’m sorry.”

“I know it is,” he replied, but with no trace of judgement which Alistair appreciated. Cullen was thoughtful for a moment, gazing around the gym as if he was deciding what piece of equipment to go with next. Alistair was about to make that call for himself when Cullen spoke again: “Shouldn’t it be obvious? Surely it shouldn’t be this difficult to know if it’s worth it or not, to be with someone, whatever the circumstances?”

“Is that your advice? That this just seems too hard to be worthwhile?”

“How does she feel?”

“Wish I had a clue.”

“Then how do you feel?”

Alistair floundered. “It’s confusing.” Cullen gave Alistair a look that said ‘ _exactly_ ’. “Right. I get it. I’ll let you work out in peace now.” Alistair watched him walk away and lethargically flicked his towel through the air a few times.

And maybe Cullen would have been right, if Alistair had been speaking honestly. But the problem was, Alistair did know how he felt. He wasn’t confused at all. He _did_ know.

And he was completely and utterly screwed.

His phone began to ring and he looked down at the caller, his chest immediately constricting with panic: Anora Mac Tir from Theirin Industries. His throat dry, Alistair gulped before mustering his courage and swiping to answer. Screwed in more ways than one apparently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo how many of you had ‘they had already met as children’ on your cliché bingo cards? Such a classic!


	13. Umbrella

Apparently it was difficult to find a free spot in Cailan’s schedule, and when one appeared Alistair was not given a lot of notice. When Anora had called him at the gym she asked if he could come to Theirin Industries the following afternoon: a work day. As soon as Alistair had stuttered out his agreement, Anora had sincerely apologised, told him she had another call coming and hung up before he could ask any questions, leaving him staring at the phone in mild shock, wondering if he should call her back but not daring to.

At the library he broached the subject with Celia as she set up for the day.

“Is it alright if we finish up early?”

“When were you thinking?” she asked, laying out the books she was carrying beside her laptop before looking down at her empty hands in confusion. “Fade take me. I think I left my coffee at the café somehow.”

“I’ve got it,” he said, handing it to her as she let out a relieved sigh. “After lunch.”

“Sure, I can take some of these home,” she told him, gesturing at the books with her chin. Celia sat down heavily, took a grateful sip of coffee and asked: “What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” he replied, too bluntly to do anything but pique her curiosity.

“Hmm, just having the afternoon off to relax?”

“An appointment.”

“Okay then.” She shot him a searching look but didn’t pry further. Honestly Alistair was only hiding the truth from her because he still felt like he might chicken out and not go. “Will you be fine for tomorrow morning? As usual?” she asked.

“I don’t see why not.”

“Good because I –” She had flipped open one of the books she had brought in and stopped speaking abruptly, recoiling in her seat like she had been kicked in the chest. A strange look came over her face and she swallowed rapidly. Alistair genuinely thought she might be about to throw up.

“Are you okay?” he asked her tentatively. “You’ve gone a bit green about the gills there.”

Celia moved suddenly, as if his voice had snapped her out of a trance, snatching a stray piece of paper out of the book and shoving it into her handbag roughly. “Fine,” she said, her voice cracking. Apparently realising how unconvincing that had sounded, she looked at him again and said: “I’m fine.” She laughed lightly. Falsely. “I just realised I left some notes I need at home is all. Good thing we are finishing early today.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and opened her notebook, seemingly to a random page. “So much to do…” she mumbled and then began to read, or at least pretend to read, putting an end to their conversation.

He waivered, wondering whether to push the issue and ultimately decided not to, instead smiling and giving her a casual nod which she didn’t acknowledge before strolling away. Of course he knew something was wrong, but he decided it would be best to feign ignorance until he had more information.

He made a point of not hovering around her as she worked, doing laps of the library, weaving between the shelves trying to look as aimless as possible. He stopped when he heard Celia’s chair scrape and her footsteps heading towards the bathroom. As soon as the corridor door had swung shut, he hurried to her desk. Her bag was still on the ground beside her chair and unzipped. Carefully he prodded at it to widen the opening and, without disturbing anything else, fished out the scrunched-up piece of paper.

Flattening it with his hands he flipped it over and baulked at what he saw. It was a printout of some kind of academic profile. It had the Highever University logo in one corner, then a write up of Celia’s publications and a brief biography. Beside this there was a photo of her: it looked like the kind of headshot someone would put on a resume. But the eyes had been crossed out by a red biro, and forcefully judging by the indentations on the paper. Then the vandal had scratched lines over her mouth, as if stitching it closed. _‘QUIT WHILE YOU’RE ALIVE’_ was written in shaky capitals: either someone had been very emotional or they were trying to disguise their handwriting.

Thinking fast Alistair pulled out his phone and took a quick photo of the sheet and then paused. He had intended to look at it then put it back: she never had to know he had found it. But now he had seen it, he knew couldn’t just leave this be.

When she returned, he was leaning on the desk beside her computer, his legs stretched out in front of him. “What?” was the first thing she asked in response to his solemn expression.

“What is this?” he asked, holding up the vandalised profile.

“Maker Alistair!” she said, instantly furious. She stormed over, snatched the paper out of his hand and scrunched it up again. “You can’t just go through my things!” She threw the ball of paper towards her bag for emphasis but it missed, hitting the side and bouncing away across the floor.

“Why were you hiding it from me?” he asked calmly.

“Because it’s none of your business.” She picked up her bag and began to rifle through the contents as if checking he hadn’t stolen anything else.

“Security matters are my business. In case it has escaped your notice, I don’t just hang around here for fun.”

“Go check on the book then,” she said curtly, “I can guarantee it’s not in here.” She gave her bag a shake.

“Celia. You need to be transparent with things like this. We might need to report it to the police,” he told her, trying to be patient which was difficult when she was being so obtuse.

She looked sharply at him. “Report what? A few bits of scrap paper?”

“Yes, it could be…Wait. _A few?_ Have there been more of these?” he asked with dawning realisation.

Caught out, the anger fell from her face and she sat down heavily in her chair next to him. “They keep turning up,” she admitted.

“Turning up how?”

“Folded in books I take out from Denerim University. That one was in a book I reserved and picked up yesterday,” Celia told him reluctantly.

“So they know what books you reserve? They must have access to the library system?”

“Not necessarily. They’re not all reservations. It wouldn’t be hard for anyone to look at my research and guess at what resources I might seek out. Scatter them through enough relevant books and it was inevitable I’d come across a handful.” Alistair folded his arms and stared at the crumpled piece of paper as if it might tell him something. Ideally who was doing this so he could go and kick the daylights out of them. Celia glanced up at him. “You look like you’re trying to light it on fire with your eyes.”

“I’m trying to light the person who did this on fire with my eyes through it,” he told her.

She sighed tiredly. “It’s just someone’s idea of a joke.”

Alistair gawped and pointed at it. “That is _not_ a joke. Nobody in their right mind is laughing at that!”

“I didn’t say it was in good taste.”

“You have to tell me about things like this.” Alistair could tell it was the wrong thing to say before the words even left his mouth and Celia’s head snapped towards him, her eyes hard.

“I _have_ to, do I?”

He didn’t want to fight with her. She was being defensive and understandably so: it was a sensitive issue. Alistair may not be a mind reader but he had performed his own share of bravado when he was stressed and it occurred to him she may be doing the same. Perhaps he should have tried to handle it more deftly from the start. It was too late to alter his initial confrontation of her but not too late to try changing tack now.

Instead of continuing to lean on the desk where he was effectively looming over her, he slipped off and crouched beside her chair so their faces were more level. Celia looked taken aback as he put a hand on the armrest and gazed at her beseechingly as he could. “Please. Help me do my job.”

“I just don’t see the point in telling you about it,” she admitted.

“So you don’t have to worry about it on your own? I know it must be unpleasant.” He shook his head slightly. “It’s horrible, actually.”

Her hands were folded in her lap and she looked down at them. “Talking about it – you seeing it makes it feel real. It’s easier to ignore if I just shove it out of sight or delete the comments right away. I’d rather not think about them.”

“I don’t want you to worry but it really is better that we know about this sort of thing. Just in case.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked, but not in a confrontational way. She sounded exhausted.

“I’ll make sure Duncan sees it. He might have seen similar behaviour in the past and have some ideas about patterns or personality types. As for the police: they probably can’t do anything but we can get it on file. That's only if you want to. Otherwise we can check if there is any CCTV from Denerim Uni that shows anything suspicious. If that book was a reservation there must still be a limited window in which the print off could be placed in it. And maybe there is way to review who has accessed your online profile recently: logged in staff or students from Highever or guest IP addresses. We might get a match with some of the online commenters from the news articles or in the forums. We might not, depending on how careful people are being, but it’s worth a try.”

Celia looked surprised. “This really is your job, isn’t it?”

He couldn’t help but feel amused by her astonishment. “See? you don’t have to deal with this alone. I can help. Or try to."

Celia smiled weakly at him. “I wish I’d told you sooner.”

He smiled back, reassuringly he hoped, and ignored the fact that she _hadn’t_ actually told him. “Then will you promise me?”

“What?”

“Promise that you’ll tell me if something, _anything_ like this happens again. If someone so much as cuts the queue at the shops or takes up two seats on the underground then I want to hear about it.”

She tutted. “Fine.”

“Is that a promise?”

Her shoulders fell with a weary exhale. “Obviously. Do you really need to me to say it?”

“Yes, that is precisely what I need. And I’m going to stay right here and not let you get anything done until I hear it.” He rested his chin on his hands where they gripped the arm of the chair and did his best puppy dog look up at her.

She smiled the tiniest of smiles and coloured slightly. “Then I promise. You’re impossible.”

“I’m going to do everything I can to keep you safe,” he told her sincerely. Celia frowned at him then scrunched up her nose, turning away as if she couldn’t bear to look at him. “What was that for?” Alistair asked, standing up.

Celia grabbed a notebook and flipped to a blank sheet, then began to rapidly open files on her laptop. “You were being so serious. I couldn’t stand it. You were like a different person.”

“Celia please,” he said with a straight face. “I am nothing if not a total professional at all times.” When she gave him a look of exaggerated befuddlement, he broke character with a snort making them both laugh. “It was a good impression, right!? I nearly had you?”

“You nearly had me terrified, if that’s what you mean.”

“Okay I get it: enough of that disgusting professionalism and back to the ritual dismemberments. Oh wait, it isn’t Tuesday is it? Ah well.” She laughed as he strolled away whistling cheerfully.

* * *

Celia worked in silence for the rest of the morning, and although she had told him she could easily work from home, Alistair had the impression she was desperately trying to get a lot done before the early finish. When the time came to leave, they walked out into the library lobby to see rain falling steadily through the glass doors.

“Oh shit,” Alistair muttered under his breath, as Celia pulled a pale blue umbrella decorated with white daisies from her bag and wrestled with the fastening on it. Just what he needed before meeting Cailan for the first time: to turn up absolutely dripping wet and totally dishevelled. Still, it couldn’t be helped.

“We can share,” Celia told him as the umbrella finally popped open.

“I need a different underground station.”

“Then I’ll walk you and find my way back from there.”

“It’s fine. Just go home before the weather gets worse,” he told her, turning up the collar of his jacket. But as they walked out, Celia determinedly kept trying to hold the umbrella over him, keeping neither of them dry and nearly taking his eye out due to their significant height difference. Eventually he relented, taking it from her and holding it over them both, so far as the small umbrella could actually cover.

Starting out, they both endeavoured to maintain a respectful distance, however inevitably kept drifting closer and closer until they would bump shoulders and then self-consciously move apart.

“Oh,” said Celia, sounding frustrated when it happened again. “This is ridiculous.” She wrapped her arm firmly around his and pressed herself against his side, eliminating the distance between them, generally making life a lot easier and the umbrella much more effective.

“So that’s why you wanted to share the umbrella, hm?” Alistair teased. “You don’t need to make up excuses to get close to me you know.” At some point, he wasn’t sure exactly when, he had apparently completely given up on the ‘no flirting’ rule.

“I don’t? And after I arranged all this rain and everything,” she said, making him laugh.

“Ah ha! So you confess it then?”

“I do. You caught me.” He could hear the smile in her voice as she squeezed his arm slightly.

“I knew it. None of the ladies can resist my incredible umbrella holding capabilities. Marvel at how I keep it upright and aloft. Such skill, such strength. Years of intensive training for this very moment…”

Celia laughed. “Maker Alistair, you’re such a dork,” she said fondly but he was already distracted, veering off the path and dragging her with him towards a huge, shaggy dog who was loping happily about on the grass, totally undeterred by the weather. After glancing at the owner for consent, Alistair gave the dog a vigorous pat.

“Good boy! Who’s a good boy?” he told the animal enthusiastically, scratching behind an ear as it let out an appreciative, doggy grunt. “You are! Yes! You are! Good boy!”

“You’re going to make yourself late Alistair,” Celia admonished but kept her arm in his. The dog shook itself spraying them both with water. “And so much for staying dry!” she added with a laugh.

Alistair continued to focus his attentions on the dog. “You haven’t been this way before, have you? This park is actually really nice when it’s not pelting with rain. We should come back in the summer.”

Celia was silent for so long that Alistair titled his head to look at her in confusion, wondering if she hadn’t heard him. Her face had gone funny, like she had taken a sudden turn. “I don’t think I’ll still be in Denerim next summer,” she said quietly as the dog frantically nudged Alistair’s hand for further attention.

Alistair straightened, feeling instantly sobered. “Oh yeah,” he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral. He gave the dog a final pat and it bounded off again towards its owner. “You’re right: I should get a move on. Don’t want to be late.”

When it came time to part ways, he pointed to one station entrance. “That’s the one you need. I’m over there.” He tried to hand the umbrella back to Celia. “It’s yours,” he told her when she refused it. “You’ll get soaked.”

“ _You’ll_ get soaked,” she said, still not taking it. “What about your appointment? I’m just going home: I can have a shower and get into my pyjamas. You shouldn’t get wet when you have somewhere to be.” When he still insisted on handing it to her, she took it then immediately put it on the ground between them, turning on her heel and walking quickly away.

“Hey!” he yelled, stunned and with the umbrella still at his feet as she fled. She threw up a hand as a goodbye then began to run through the rain towards the underground station, ducking her head and clutching her bag to her body. Grinning and only getting more wet by the second, he picked up the floral umbrella again, holding it gratefully over his head. She didn’t even know what his appointment was for, but he was so thankful. She had saved him one shred of dignity at least.

He travelled on until the Theirin Industries skyscraper loomed intimidatingly above him. He had often seen it from a distance. In fact, it was impossible to miss as it featured so prominently and distinctly in the Denerim skyline. But without realising it, he had long ago trained himself to let his eyes slide over the building without ever properly seeing it. It would be too depressing to have to think about _things_ every time he saw it, which would be practically every day. So he pushed it all from his mind and the building had become all but invisible. Until now. And here he was: about to cross the threshold into a world entirely unknown to him. The world of his father.

But he had one more thing to do and just enough time to do it before his scheduled meeting time with Cailan. Standing under the cover of the awning without yet going inside, Alistair called Duncan.

“Are you alright?” Duncan asked straight away when he answered his phone on the second ring.

“A bit of a development. Nooot a good one.”

“I’ve got a minute: go on Alistair.”

“Just came across a printed profile of Celia’s, with a photo and bio, vandalised and stuffed into a random library book. Or not entirely random, one she was likely to borrow if anyone follows her research according to her.”

“Vandalised how?”

“Her eyes all scratched up for a start. Scribbles over her mouth and a fairly unambiguous and discouraging message. I’ll send you a photo of it.”

Duncan groaned. “So it’s not just online anymore. And there is someone in the area.”

“Yeah. Worse still, this isn’t the first time. I don’t have the full scale of it but it has definitely happened before. A few times maybe. Someone might have done one big leaflet drop a while ago or they could be making a regular hobby out of it.”

“I need to think about this. Send through that image when you can, and any details in the body of the email, including what you’ve already told me.”

“Duncan,” he said quickly before the other man could hang up. “There’s more. Maybe. Might be nothing.”

“Go on. Now isn’t the time to brush anything aside.”

“Celia asked me – I went to an event with her recently. A thing for people like her; academics hobnobbing and grandstanding. She gave a presentation. She was worried about it.”

“Because she felt threatened?”

“Not necessarily. It just seemed like it was a high-pressure gig. All those intellectuals trying aggressively to be smarter than each other. It all seemed like a huge deal and the networking is an important part their careers apparently. Making good impressions with the right people and such.”

“And what happened?”

“She got drunk. Really drunk, really quickly. I wasn’t with her the whole night, but I think she was too drunk for the amount of drinks she actually had.”

Duncan caught his meaning instantly. “Someone spiked her drink? To sabotage her?”

“She doesn’t think so. Said she must have lost track. But she didn’t have the benefit of seeing herself. I mean, if she says something stupid in public or chucks her guts up onto some important scholar’s brogues, I’m guessing that’s bad for her career, right? Maybe someone was trying to damage her reputation. We – her brother was there, and we got her out quickly, before any damage was done.”

“I’ll request a guest list for the event and the contact details of all serving staff as soon as you send me the details. Good work Alistair: this could be something.”

“I thought I might be getting paranoid.”

“Paranoid is what we need right now.”

Alistair suddenly wished he hadn’t sent Celia off alone. He gripped the folded umbrella tightly. “These things…If someone is nearby do you think that they’re planning something more serious? Do you think she’s in real danger?”

“We’ve got a chance to narrow down some suspects now, before it comes to anything. I’ll focus on that, while you focus on your job. Well done Alistair.”

Embarrassed by the praise, Alistair said good bye in a mumble and Duncan hung up.

Alistair still felt distracted as he made his way into the Theirin Industries lobby. He had been so wrapped up in calling Duncan to discuss the threat against Celia, and strategizing as many things to follow up as he could, that he hadn’t even had time to dwell on what exactly his brother had in store for him that afternoon. It wasn’t until he was at the unwelcoming, minimalist, marble reception desk, telling the staff member there that he was expected, that the nerves fully set in.

“I’m here to see Cailan. Theirin. Mr Theirin?” Alistair told the receptionist uncertainly as the man narrowed his eyes with obvious incredulity over his horn-rimmed glasses. “Or Anora Mac Tir?” Alistair tried.

“Name?” the man asked.

“Alistair.”

The man sighed in a pained manner. “Your _surname_?”

“Um –” Alistair began awkwardly.

“UHUM? How did you spell that?”

“Guerrin,” Alistair said and spelled it.

The man typed it in and clicked to search. “What do you know? Nothing scheduled with anyone today Mr Guerrin.”

“That’s not really my name. I just go by it sometimes. So it might be under…” The receptionist gave him a look of pointed scepticism. “It’s actually, it’s um…it’s Theirin.”

The receptionist rolled his eyes, slowly and intentionally. “Paragons give me _strength_ ,” he muttered under his breath and then addressed Alistair again with a falsely chipper voice: “Nice to meet you Mr Theirin, I’m the Queen of Orlais.”

“Ha. Bonjour,” Alistair said weakly, unable to resist. “But I really am…Could you please just call Anora and let her know I’m here?”

With a sneer, the man picked up his phone and it seemed unlikely to Alistair he was doing as requested. “Security? Front reception. I’ve got another –”

A clear voice cut across the lobby making the man at the desk visibly jump. “Leave it. He’s here to see me.” Anora’s voice carried with such unmistakable authority that every person in the vicinity instinctively turned to look at her. She stood with regal poise, spine straight and chin level. Alistair swallowed nervously just to see her. Somehow she was exactly what he had pictured just from hearing her voice on the phone.

“I’m so sorry. Please don’t –” the man at the reception said pleadingly in a low, terrified voice but Alistair waved a hand to cut him off.

“Don’t worry about it Your Majesty,” he told him lightly and the man laughed in obvious relief.

Anora beckoned to Alistair and all the heads in the lobby now swivelled to look at him curiously. Alistair walked towards her, thinking very carefully about putting one foot in front of the other and silently praying to every entity he had ever heard of that he wouldn’t trip. Once she had ascertained he was following, Anora turned neatly and moved back towards the lifts. Despite the height of her heels she set a rapid pace and Alistair had to make an effort to catch up. She swiped him through the security gates with a guest pass on a lanyard that she then looped over his head without consulting him. As a couple of guards approached holding scanners, she waved them away. Alistair wondered if that was a good sign that she obviously trusted him enough to not be carrying a weapon.

In the lift it was silent except for Anora tapping her foot impatiently as she read something on her phone. Just as Alistair was worrying that he might smell like wet dog, she spoke curtly without looking up, “Was the receptionist a problem? I can arrange disciplinary measures.” Without her saying anything to indicate as much, Alistair somehow intuited that this meant immediate dismissal.

“No. Not at all,” he replied quickly, feeling bad for the guy even if he had been a bit of a jerk. “He was just doing his job.” Anora nodded once in acknowledgment and then continued to type into her phone. “What are we…What do you actually need me for?” Alistair asked, desperate for a clue before he actually saw his brother.

“I will run you through your schedule once you are with Mr Theirin,” she told Alistair, and then her intelligent blue eyes met his fully for the first time. She gave him an assessing once over. “You look like him.”

“Do I?” Alistair asked earnestly, wondering if she meant Maric or Cailan.

Anora dropped her gaze, her eyes falling on Celia’s daisy patterned umbrella which was dripping steadily onto the lift floor. “Vaguely,” she clarified with a little embarrassment and dusted a piece of non-existent lint from her blazer. The lift door opened and she walked out and set off down a corridor without glancing back once to check Alistair was following.

Anora opened a set of double doors into an office five times the size of Alistair’s apartment and with what seemed like more glass than his entire building. There, Alistair saw his brother for the first time. In person, anyway: he was on the news often enough. Cailain was staring out at the cityscape, and turned when they entered in such a studied way that Alistair guessed he had been planning it. Possibly even rehearsing it.

“Alistair?” Cailan asked warmly. “Yes of course you are. Capital! Anora don’t you see it?” he strode over to Alistair and clapped him on the shoulder, then stood at his side, looking at Anora expectantly.

“We are running late Mr. Theirin,” Anora said in a clipped voice.

“Of course, of course. Such a shame to rush this but I hope you understand. Got a few things on my plate at the moment. Orlais is trying to…” Cailan made some gestures that Alistair didn’t understand but seemed violent, “…my arse over this merger and what with the bloody unions and some of our suppliers talking about introducing new trade agreements that are –”

“Currently confidential,” Anora interrupted and Cailan snapped his fingers at her grinning.

“Right you are! Tell you what: the amount of trouble I’d get myself into without this woman tugging at my leash. You know what I mean? Eh Alistair?” Cailan asked with a conspiratorial wink.

“Er,” Alistair said vaguely, not having the slightest clue what he meant. He saw Anora’s mouth tighten.

“She’s a marvellous lassie though a hard taskmaster when she wants to be!” Cailan mimed cracking a whip. “I say we’ve a fun afternoon ahead Alistair, I tell you what. Run us through the schedule Anora, there’s a girl.”

Her face a mask of what he imagined was practiced blankness, Anora scrolled through her phone as Alistair felt a growing awe at her patience. “The photoshoot starts in ten minutes. They’re just setting up.”

“Photoshoot?” Alistair asked incredulously, finally managing to get a full word in.

“Yes! Straight down to business. Got to get the money shot you know?”

“To document your reunion,” Anora attempted to clarify as Cailan went on chuckling at his own joke. Alistair had been uneasy before, now he was fully panicking.

“I didn’t know there was going to be a photoshoot?” he told them and his voice sounded higher than usual to his own ears.

“I can tell,” Cailan let out a bark of laughter. “Or you wouldn’t have dressed like that! Anora is there a spare jacket of mine? He’d be about the right size. Maybe a bit wider though.” Calian let out an amused chuckle and slapped Alistair’s stomach in an altogether way too familiar way. “Alistair there is this amazing juice cleanse I like to do. They deliver them and everything. Really detoxes your system like nothing else. Marvellous stuff. You’ve got to give it a go: will slim you right down like nobody’s business.” Cailain squeezed Alistair’s arm as if to asses it. “You’ve got some muscle but you could be leaner. This juice has cayenne, turmeric, ginger, pineapple, coconut water…What else was it Anora? You know the one I like?”

“Cucumber,” Anora said with barely concealed disgust before changing the subject which Alistair was grateful for. “We’ve picked something up for him to wear but he needs to get changed now. The makeup team will see to you first, then Alistair once he is dressed.”

Alistair had gone rigid with horror. “Ah showbiz eh?” Cailan said, nudging him. “The cameras are merciless: you’ll need a spot of powder believe me.”

“Uh, sorry. I just have no idea what’s going on. What are these photos for?”

Cailan laughed. “To go with the interview!” he told Alistair as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“ _Interview?_ ”

“If I know Anora she will have all the major publications on hand and slathering.” Finally registering Alistair’s look of horror Cailan said quickly. “We have a script for you old chap. Not to worry. You won’t be put on the spot! Just read what Anora gives you and you’ll be golden. Anora,” he signalled for her but she was already retrieving some papers from Cailan’s desk. Alistair took them and skimmed the front page. “It’s just to remind the general public of the better parts of Dad’s personality. Make them think of happier times in his life. Spruce up the old media narrative with a bit of spit and polish.” Alistair felt swept up. He didn’t have a clue what Cailan was saying but the man had the kind of contagious energy that was slightly magnetic and impossible to resist. Or perhaps ‘swept up’ didn’t cover it: ‘swept out to sea’ might be more appropriate. Alistair figured his half-brother was both accustomed to and very good at being the centre of attention wherever he went.

“We’ve given you a new job for this purpose,” Anora informed him.

“Huh?” Alistair asked, tucking the wet umbrella under his arm and desperately flipping through the pages.

“We’ve made you a mechanic. Just don’t talk about it in any detail,” Anora clarified.

“A mechanic! How _practical_ ,” Cailan sounded delighted. “One of the reporters might ask you to change their pollen filter Alistair, then where will we be, eh? The jig will be up!”

Alistair held out the papers he had been reading. “I’m not…And this isn’t right. We never went on fishing trips with our father. I never even met him!”

“‘Our father’ indeed. Can you practise saying ‘Dad’ before we get in front of the cameras?” Cailan said encouragingly and Alistair felt a vague wave of nausea rising in response. “Look Alistair, people get the wrong end of the stick about the old dog. We want to rewrite –”

“Rehabilitate,” Anora interrupted.

“ _Rehabilitate_ his image a bit. The image of the whole company.”

“But he’s dead,” Alistair said bluntly.

“He may be gone but his identity is, and will always be, tied inexorably with Theirin Industries. For better or for worse,” Anora explained.

Cailan threw out his arms and turned his head towards the ceiling. “So he underpaid a few cleaners and couldn’t resist a pretty face. Who can?” Cailan asked, nudging Alistair. Anora had gone very still on the other side of the room. “And he had a few public opinions that soured a bit in recent years when people got all sensitive and picky. Now it feels like there is another exposé every other week with these vulture journalists picking at his memory," Cailan tutted. "He was a product of his times: so sue him!”

“Many did,” Anora pointed out tersely and Alistair, disguised a small chuckle by clearing his throat.

“And they all lost a lot of money,” Calain said triumphantly. “So you see Alistair, now the blood is in the water there’s a risk that some particularly tenacious reporter might start sniffing around and get wind of you so our best strategy is to tell them what to think –”

“Control the narrative,” Anora interrupted again.

“That’s the one.” Cailan shook his head even as he grinned. “You’d think we would have shaken off most of Dad’s little dramas by now but the media holds a grudge and so do our shareholders apparently.”

Alistair was about at snapping point. “Is that what I am? A little drama?” Calain looked startled and seemed genuinely speechless for the first time since Alistair had walked in the room. “Look, Anora said on the phone you wanted to meet me. Maybe work with me on something. This wasn’t what I envisioned.”

“Work with us? What did you think? We were going to set you up in the mailroom as an intern?” Cailan laughed and slapped him on the back again. “We just want you to help us out with this one, tiny little media appearance. It’s all part of some five-year vision for the company the board of directors are slathering over,” he told Alistair then added in a stage whisper that was definitely audible across the room: “Don’t ask Anora about it she has all these tremendously boring graphs she likes to waffle on about.” He illustrated his point with a loud fake yawn.

“I’m not sure about this,” Alistair said, glancing towards the door as if to check his exit point wasn’t being obstructed. He half expected to see armoured guards crossing their spears in front of it.

“You’ll be compensated for your time,” Anora told him calmly.

“So you want me to pose for a few photos and read a script. Is that it?” Alistair became aware he was clutching Celia’s umbrella tighter and tighter in his hand. He was worried he was going to break it but couldn’t seem to loosen his grip.

“By Jove he’s got it,” Cailan said, clicking his tongue. “There will be some paperwork, boring legal stuff, just making sure you don’t later cast doubt on anything we attribute to you today. I’m sure you’re not a tattler though are you Alistair?” Anora held out a clipboard and a fountain pen. When Alistair didn’t take them, she removed the pen lid for him as if that might be what was stopping him from signing. Alistair felt like a fool. He had genuinely thought this might be about Cailan, his brother, wanting to get to know him. Despite what Eamon had said, despite what Celia had said, he had still naively hoped. But all they wanted was for him to perform, spout some lies and then probably never darken their door ever again.

“Forget it,” Alistair said.

“Oh come on! Don’t be a spoilsport. You can wear your own clothes if you really want to. Is that it?”

“I’m not doing it. Any of it. Hire an actor if you want someone to play happy families.” Or a trained seal, Alistair added mentally. Anyone. Just not him.

“Can we do that? Get an actor in?” Cailan asked seriously as Anora gave him a sharp shake of her head then signalled something by rubbing her fingers together. Cailan cleared his throat. “Perhaps you don’t understand just how much we intend to financially compensate you for this. Obviously we value your time. Anora: the cheque please.”

But Alistair brushed away her repeated attempts to hand it to him and refused to look at it. “I’m not here for that.”

Cailan looked baffled like a dog that had been tricked by a fake ball throw. “What is it you want then?”

Alistair grinned at the question, pondering it for a moment. “Nothing from you,” he finally answered, feeling a lightness come over him. He twirled Celia’s umbrella slightly. “Nice to meet you. Hope the interview goes well,” he told them with a chuckle that only served to make them look more confused. He raised the umbrella in a brief, mock salute and strolled out feeling like he could breathe properly for the first time since he had entered the building.


	14. Heat Stroke

Alistair could have kept it to himself forever, and he did keep quiet at first, not breathing a word to anyone: even when he caught up with Leliana, even when Wynne made him a cup of tea, even when Cullen drove him home from football. Given he had told no one he was going to meet Cailan, there wasn’t any obligation at all to share his disastrous visit to Theirin Industries with his friends. And why would he, considering how utterly humiliating and disappointing it had been?

But all of a sudden, he wanted to tell Celia. In fact, she was the first person he wanted to talk to about it at all after a good couple of weeks of keeping his mouth shut and pretending it had never happened. It was as if one morning he just woke up and was ready. Suddenly he couldn’t wait to speak to her.

He didn’t mention it on the train to the library, nor for most of the day as she worked. Even though the will was there, it still took him a while to build up the courage.

“You were right,” he told Celia, finally broaching the topic, even abstractly, as he joined her at the table. He could have sat opposite her as usual, but instead he pulled out the chair beside her, turning it in her direction.

“What about?” she asked, looking up curiously after making motions to save whatever document she had been typing.

“I went to Theirin Industries to see what they wanted. What my brother wanted.”

After apparently struggling for a moment with how best proceed, she asked, “How did it go?” and Alistair grimaced in answer. “Is that what happened to you? I’d been wondering, “ she added softly.

“Wondering about what?”

“You’ve just haven't seemed yourself the last couple of weeks. I’ve been worried.”

He could see from her expression that she really meant it and felt immediately unnerved. And there he was thinking he had completely concealed every trace of it all under a mask of false joviality. Clearing his throat self-consciously, he continued, “Like I said: you were right. It was a bit of a disaster.”

“I’m sorry to hear that but I don’t see how that makes me right,” Celia said cautiously.

“They just wanted to use my image for publicity. Or a made-up version of my image at any rate.”

She squinted at him in confusion. “Made-up how?”

“Apparently the real me wasn’t wholesome enough or something: a high school dropout bastard who never met his father and works as common security guard grunt.” Celia winced. “I think I already suspected something like this going in, and it made sense when you warned me, but I still…didn’t realise how bad it would feel.”

“Alistair,” she said, her voice thick with pity which he hated and immediately sought to alleviate with a casual, dismissive wave of his hand.

“Don’t worry about me. I mean, it wasn’t a great experience but it answers _that_ question. I won’t be their dancing monkey and play happy families just to help bolster their profit margins.”

“But was there any real desire on your brother’s part to reconcile?”

“If there was, he’ll have to come to me without the entourage of journalists next time. He seemed barely aware of what was going on: Anora has her hand firmly on the rudder in that company.”

“Anora? His Personal Assistant? Oh dear.”

Alistair shrugged. “Good for her,” he said sincerely and Celia looked briefly surprised before smiling almost imperceptibly.

“So they had arranged some kind of media event?”

“And I was expected to just stand there and smile. Maker, worse than that.” He ran his hand down his face and laughed bitterly. “They had a script for me and everything. Anecdotes about cosy moments of family bonding with my father and brother that never happened. It was pretty twisted.”

Celia’s face crinkled in sympathy. “You deserve better, Alistair. You really do,” she told him, her voice breaking a little. Alistair looked past her to the shelves at the far end of the room.

“It’s okay: I gained nothing but I also lost nothing.”

“Have you talked to your Uncle Eamon about it?”

Alistair groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “Not yet. Possibly not ever.” Celia raised a questioning eyebrow. “He’ll be so disappointed with me: I don’t think I can face him. This was all he ever wanted for me and I…” Alistair mimed an explosion with his hands.

“How bad?”

“I walked out. I didn’t go along with it obviously. They offered me money and I told them I didn’t want anything from them and just…left.”

“Sounds perfectly reasonable to me,” Celia assured him.

“But Eamon won’t see it that way. He’ll see it as a catastrophic failure. He’ll say I ran away,” Alistair explained then, after a moment of reflection, added, “I guess I did.”

“I don’t think it’s fair of him to hold you to this as the one and only possible measure of success in life,” she said then immediately shot him searching look as if anxious she might have overstepped.

Alistair managed a weary half-shrug. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean to…”

“But he does,” Celia finished for him.

“Yeah.”

Celia thought for a while. “And your brother?”

“Bit of a toff. What about him?”

“I’m not commenting on what his motive was in this case: sometimes even with the best of intentions our families can end up hurting us. But perhaps there might still be a chance? In the future? Maybe your brother will have different priorities one day.”

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” Alistair said curiously. “About family members with good intentions?”

“I’m not.” Celia shook her head and raised her hands in surrender. “And I’m not trying to make this about me.”

“Tell me,” he insisted. “You seem to have everything so together.”

“I really don’t,” Celia replied flatly.

“You’re so driven. And you’re following in your father’s footsteps, right?”

Celia sighed, her shoulders slumping as she dropped her gaze towards the table. “Yes: it’s that simple but it’s also that terrifying.”

Alistair was entirely baffled and bent to try and see her face. “Hey. What’s going on? What’s this about?”

“When I told you to – insisted that you study to be a Phys Ed teacher, I was projecting.”

“ _You_ want to be a PE teacher?” he asked with undisguised confusion.

“What? No! Absolutely not.” She wrapped a strand of hair around her finger, gave it a tug then began to explain with obvious reluctance. “This work? Researching, writing, publishing? I love what I do. I _love_ it. But there was never any question of my doing this, or Fergus. I had to do it. My father’s legacy is so incredible that people were telling me they were looking forward to reading my publications when I was still in high school. As if it was just a matter of time. There was no consideration that I might have wanted to be a chef or a real estate agent or I don’t know…an astronaut.”

“You feel like you were pressured into all this? By your family?”

“In some ways. But then again, I genuinely enjoy it. And I’m good at it. And I’m so privileged to have the opportunities I do. It’s just sometimes I think the only reason I got this far was because I was so petrified of letting everyone down. Of not meeting up to their expectations. I know my parents would have loved me no matter what, but part of me wonders if they would have been able to accept me if I didn’t work so hard to be exactly what they expect. It was a lot of pressure. Even now I’m so scared that I’m failing them.”

“But you’re not failing. Nobody thinks you’re failing. You won the grant for this project.”

She gave her laptop a defeated look. “And now it just feels like I have further to fall if I mess up.”

“Hey,” Alistair said gently. “You sound tired. And I don’t just mean today.”

Celia titled her face up and smiled at him. “I feel like I have been going full steam my whole life.”

“Sometimes you need to stop and reassess. Enjoy the view for a bit. Or at least give yourself a chance to think before you rush into the next big life decision.”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

“Maybe. How long until you finish this?” he asked, gesturing across the table and the swathes of papers and books that swamped it.

“Even after I’m done with the research here there will still be a huge amount work before I can publish. Months. Perhaps years.”

“Then what?”

Celia leaned back in her chair and looked towards the ceiling. “I suppose I will apply for a research position at Highever University. That’s what Dad did so I guess it’s the next step.”

“You’re really going to spend your whole life trying to do what you _think_ your parents want you to?” Alistair asked with scepticism. “That doesn’t sound like the Celia I know: meekly falling into line.”

Celia smiled at that, then it faded just as quickly and she nudged her glasses up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “You have no idea what it’s like to have their expectations always hanging over you, even if they are well-intentioned.”

“You’re right. I’ve never had to deal with that kind of pressure,” he said. Celia sat suddenly bolt upright, her face contorting with regret.

“Oh Maker strike me down. I’m sorry! I’ve been so insensitive –”

Alistair shook his head and laughed briefly. “You really haven’t. You don’t have to pretend to not have parents to avoid offending me. I know they exist out there for some people. I’ve heard rumours anyway,” he said with a conspiratorial waggle of his eyebrows to try and put her back at ease.

She worriedly tapped her pen on the desk a few times then, catching herself, stopped abruptly. “Do you remember much about them?”

“Apparently my father was very good at his job. Or so I hear,” Alistair said sardonically.

“Did you ever meet him?”

“We never met. But I knew _of_ him.” Of course he did: near enough everyone alive knew of his father. Of Maric and his public, opulent lifestyle, his offensive offhand comments to the media, his sometimes disastrous snap decisions and his occasional scandals. Regardless of how good of a businessman he might have been, these were inescapable as soundbites on repeat in the news even after he had stepped down. Even after he had died.

“And your mum?”

Alistair clasped his hands in front of him. “I don’t have even the faintest clue who she is. No one seemed to think it worth troubling me with that information. Someone my dad worked with allegedly.” That was the polite way of putting it, rather than the phrasing the journalists liked to use. Really, after the excitement of the affair it was a miracle they had managed to keep the existence of Alistair so quiet. A miracle Alistair was grateful for, and he had his Uncle to thank for that much at least. “I don’t know if she got paid off, or scared into silence by lawyers or if she was just…happy to get rid of me.”

Celia bit her bottom lip sympathetically. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. Well, it’s not, but it is at the same time. I don’t know what it is,” he trailed off uncertainly. Maker, why was he so bloody incoherent? He sat back in the chair, feeling abruptly uncomfortable in it, and let out a frustrated huff, twisting away from her to face the table.

Celia stayed very still and he could feel her penetrating gaze on the side of his face even without looking at her. “I don’t think there is a right way to feel about it,” she told him, her voice level.

Alistair pushed a stray biro lid around in circles on the table for a while, then rested his hands flat against the wood. “It feels wrong to claim any kind of grief: she probably isn’t dead. And it’s not like I can talk about missing her. How could I? I never knew her…” he trailed off but Celia waited without interjecting. He looked at her and she met his eyes, her expression open and patient, signalling to him that he had her full attention. Alistair looked away and focused on the table again instead, on all her papers spread out between them. “Maybe I do miss her. In a way.”

“Yeah?” Celia said lightly, and in a way that was neither too demanding nor dismissive. For a woman so usually brimming with opinions, he was conscious that she was giving him a lot of space to speak.

“It’s really stupid…Sometimes I wonder if she laughs like I do, or if she talks to her indoor plants when she waters them, whether she watched the latest football match with Par Vollen or if she prefers the autumn or the spring, how she takes her coffee or whether she likes to eat her burger or her chips first.” Alistair felt an old, familiar heaviness enveloping his heart and laughed a little to try and shake it off. “Completely mundane things like that make me think of her and…I just don’t know…I don’t know anything about her.”

“That must be really hard, always wondering and not having anyone to ask.” Celia moved her hand across the table towards his and Alistair panicked. He quickly retracted his hands to avoid her, and then, feeling badly for it, picked up a random piece of paper and pretended to read. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t like her to…it was only that if she touched him he may actually cry and that was not what he wanted to do right at that moment. In front of her. At work.

There was a lump in his throat and Alistair began to wish this conversation had never started. This was his job supposedly, and talking about his absent mother wasn’t exactly professional, no matter how comfortable the client kept making him feel and no matter how many boundaries had already been crossed. Alistair sighed in a show of exaggerated indifference before continuing. “Doesn’t matter,” he said in an offhand way. “She might have been horrible anyway.”

“I don’t think she was.”

He felt a flicker of irritation at her certainty. “You can’t know that.”

“No, but you’re her son: that’s something huge in her favour. I think she would be proud of you.”

“Based on what?” he asked, not really expecting an answer.

“You’re funny, generous and kind. The first time we met…Well,” she said with a knowing smile, “the _second_ time we met you were going out of your way to help me despite the fact I was a complete stranger and probably certifiably insane from what you had witnessed. Any mother would be proud.” He scoffed and began to protest but she cut him off, her voice firm, “Alistair you’re a good man. One of the best.”

Her confidence was making him feel simultaneously worse and better. He blinked rapidly and stared at the paper in his hand for a while longer, finally registering that it was written entirely in Ancient Tevene: something that Celia must have realised some time ago. He dropped it back on the desk and stood up. “I should do a general check, make sure the locks are all…locked,” he managed in a strained voice before walking away.

“Okay,” she said, as if this was totally normal and pulled her laptop towards her. He heard the sound of typing before he left the room.

He didn’t go any further than the other side of the door, leaning heavily against the wall and staring blankly into the darkness feeling strangely exhausted. He stayed like that for a long time, only returning when he heard the sounds of Celia packing up her things in the next room to go home.

When he walked towards her Celia looked up quickly from her bag, her lips pursing with concern. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he said nonchalantly. “Of course.”

She said nothing further, but brushed her hand lightly against the small of his back as she passed him to head for the exit.

* * *

Alistair felt withdrawn for the rest of the week and resisted all of Celia’s attempts to make conversation. After a time she gave up and let him be, though he caught her frequent, worried looks. To avoid her, he spent more time wandering the library and its grounds. In fact, Celia had to keep tracking him down when she wanted to access the book, always apologising profusely for disturbing him as if it wasn’t his job.

He felt guilty: the last thing he wanted was for Celia to think he resented her for their conversation. But wasn’t he meant to feel better now he had gotten it off his chest? Well he didn’t: he felt infinitely worse.

Or so he told himself. But a small, honest part of him was grateful. When had he ever talked about his mother before in his life? When her absence came up he usually made jokes about never having been nagged to take the bins out or tidy his room. People didn’t generally push him beyond that. So why now? Why Celia? That bothered him more than the conversation itself had. He had spent a lifetime deflecting and hiding she had left him feeling exposed.

Alistair wanted to shake off his own mood but he wasn’t sure how.

“Are you doing anything tonight?” Celia asked in an obvious attempt to sound casual as she shrugged on her coat that Friday evening.

“Does ‘video games on my own’ count as anything? If so: yes.”

Celia laughed. “More than what I have on so I should say so. I was planning on folding laundry.”

He scuffed his foot and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “You’d be welcome to join me. If you want to. I mean, the folding sounds pretty fun so I get it if you can’t.”

“Sure!” she said with such ready eagerness that Alistair felt another surge of guilt for having avoided her all week. She beamed at him then her face fell a little. “I’m not great at video games though. Actually, I’ve never played one, truth be told.”

“We can start you on easy mode.”

Three hours later Alistair was biting the inside of his cheek to hold back laughter as he watched Celia grow increasingly frustrated in a way he had never seen before as she bristled with tension and cursed under her breath.

She made the in-game jump, just barely and almost by accident as far as he could tell but she threw her arms up in the air in victory, letting out an astonished gasp, turning to point at him and then back at the screen. “I saw!” he said, finally letting out his long-repressed chuckle. “Well done!”

“The stupid thing wouldn’t jump when I told it to! I pressed the button! I pressed the bloody button! Maker give me strength to work with this idiot who has one job. Just jump when I tell you to jump! It’s that simple! Andraste’s bloomers…useless piece of…fucking finally…” she dissolved into aggravated mumbling as she resumed steering her onscreen bunny avatar through the marshmallow level. Alistair let out a slight choking noise as he fought back more laughter: he didn’t think he had ever heard her properly swear before. But Celia was oblivious to his mirth and totally focused on collecting the onscreen chocolate buttons.

She went on playing with ferocious determination. Alistair occasionally interrupted, only to gently ease the controller from Celia’s hands to get her character out of a tight spot when she looked like she might actually start screaming. After one such instance she turned to him and said, “You’re so amazing. Thank you,” in such a sincere way that he felt his ears grow hot.

He watched her profile with a fond smile plastered across his face. She was furious and he was finding it strangely adorable. Even now she leaned closer and closer to the screen, the glow illuminating her features. Celia’s nose twitched in agitation and she paused briefly to tuck her hair behind her ears as she went on mouthing silent instructions to the bunny as if it could hear her.

But Alistair stopped smiling abruptly as an unbidden realisation engulfed him like a cold wave.

He might be falling in love with her.

Alistair knew he _liked_ her. He had liked her as soon as he had met her. But this felt different. Terrifyingly different. He waited for an internal denial. Some part of his brain to tell him he was wrong and to rationalise away the urge he suddenly had to take her face in his hands and kiss every part of it. The way he wanted to watch her do this every night until forever. The way his heart constricted because she may never again fall asleep in his arms.

But nothing came. No logic emerged to contradict a bit of it or shake him free of the sudden dread that had come over him with this revelation.

“Useless failure of a bunny,” Celia muttered to herself then she shook her head and the murderous expression fell from her face as she turned to him. Alistair felt a jolt of electricity then immediate guilt as she did. Maker help him: what if she could tell? Read his thoughts somehow? See it in the way he looked at her? “What time is it?” she asked, oblivious to his discomfort.

“Ten.”

Her mouth opened in shock. “Oh already? It can’t still be my turn! Have I hogged it? I got carried away...” she fretted, trying to hand the controller back to him.

“Watching you play is way more fun,” he said, meaning it.

But Celia still looked upset. “How did I get so distracted?” she wondered with a forlorn glance at the screen, then at him. “And I was meant to be cheering you up.”

Alistair cleared his throat and reached for his beer, his voice barely audible as he said, “Trust me: you have.”

* * *

Apparently however, Celia’s efforts to make him feel better were not yet at an end for the weekend. She contacted him on Saturday morning to invite him on a hike with her friends on Sunday. Given her general, vocal dislike of voluntary exercise and the great outdoors, Alistair had a sneaking suspicion she had only agreed to go because she thought he would like it. And he had to admit: she was right.

“Morrigan arranged it,” she told him as Alistair recalled the snarky woman with heavy eyeliner and the extremely low-cut top. “She likes prowling around the woods: zoology major. You met her briefly?”

“Oh yeah, your friend with the –” Alistair cut himself off. He couldn’t exactly say ‘bad attitude and tits out’ could he?

“Ponytail yes,” Celia filled in, mercifully ignorant.

“That’s the one.” While Alistair wasn’t particularly keen to reacquaint himself with Morrigan, the thought of clearing his head by going for a long walk through the woods was appealing. They were making a day trip of it, meeting Celia’s friends from Highever half way by train.

A group of about eight of them, mostly strangers, found Alistair near the platform when Celia had just disappeared to the loo. He was relieved to confirm that Nate was not among them. As expected however, Morrigan was, and she looked about as pleased to see him as he was her.

“Oh good. Celia’s brought a charitable case from Denerim to let them experience nature,” Morrigan said when she saw him, then plucked at a nearby shrub. “This is a leaf. You’ll be seeing a lot of them today. Do try not to get overwhelmed.”

“I know what a leaf is,” Alistair said defensively.

“My! Congratulations are in order then,” Morrigan said condescendingly.

“I’m from Redcliffe actually, which is further from Denerim than Highever so maybe I should be explaining leaves to you,” Alistair parried but Morrigan looked unruffled.

“Redcliffe? Where they bulldoze all their forests and erase the biodiversity to plant endless fields of wheat? _That_ isn’t nature.”

Zevran interrupted. “Really Morrigan, go easy on him. Anyone who looks so comfortable in a plaid shirt is clearly well equipped to hike through the woods,” he pointed out and Alistair had no idea if he was being sarcastic or not.

“True. And he may yet reunite with distant relative amongst the toadstools growing here. I would estimate that they share approximately the same number of brain cells.”

“Or you might find a relative, if they’re poisonous,” he snapped back and she laughed and came very close to him, suddenly speaking in a carefully low voice.

“I _do_ know which ones are poisonous, just so you’re aware.”

Alistair’s blood ran cold as Celia re-joined the group and, oblivious to the tension, seized Morrigan’s wrist excitedly.

“I have something for you. I know it's ages until your Nameday but I saw these at Denerim Markets and I couldn’t resist…” She fished in the front pocket of her pack and brought out a little envelope. Morrigan opened it and removed a pair of gold earrings shaped like snakes. They seemed thoroughly appropriate to Alistair but Morrigan looked genuinely touched by the gesture, briefly lost for words. In fact, she didn’t even thank Celia who seemed entirely unbothered and went on, “They were just so you,” and then proceeded to greet her other friends, making sure Alistair had been introduced. From the corner of his eye he saw Morrigan holding one of the earrings up to the light, tracing a finger along the length of it, a look or real appreciation and unexpected softness on her face before she put it back in the envelope and tucked it securely in her own bag.

They set off on the trail, Alistair sticking with Celia as the rest of the group quickly pulled ahead. He took the opportunity of their relative privacy to ask quietly, “So what’s the story with Morrigan?”

“The story?” Celia said with a laugh. “What story?” Alistair shrugged. “Don’t you like her?” Celia asked.

“I know she’s your friend but I don’t think _she_ likes me. Something in the way she keeps being an absolute –”

“She can be a bit abrasive until you get to know her.”

Alistair silently thought that he’d rather not get to know her. Ever. “So how did you two become friends? Hold on a second.”

Celia stopped walking. “What?” she asked as he circled around her and unzipped her pack. “We went to school together.”

“And?” he prompted as he burrowed through her possessions. “Come on: there’s more to it than that! You two are polar opposites, like chalk and cheese – and you’re the cheese by the way.”

Celia laughed at that. “The very highest of compliments coming from you. What on earth are you doing back there? The snacks are in the front pocket.”

“Just lightening your load a bit,” he told her as he transferred her water bottle and a couple of other heavier items into his own bag.

“Oh, you shouldn’t Alistair,” she said guiltily but made no effort to move away.

“You keep adjusting your straps every couple of metres: I can tell they’re digging in and we’ve still got a long way to go,” he told her as he zipped her bag up again. Not to mention she was walking at a snail’s pace.

“But what about you?”

“I’m fine. I _pay_ to do this sort of thing at the gym so really you’re doing me a favour,” he gave her bag a few pats to indicate he was finished and she turned to face him.

“I’m sure I should be protesting more,” she said meekly, shifting her backpack experimentally. “But that feels so much better. Thank you, and just pretend I kicked up a huge fuss.”

“Done,” he said with a laugh. “So how did it happen? You and Morrigan? _Chums_?”

They set off walking again. “We often had to pair up for assignments at school. The other students were reluctant to work with her. She had a bit of a reputation for…setting things on fire and carrying knives. Her mother was also a bit eccentric.”

“Maker have mercy: that is all so unsurprising. So you, in all you innocence, thought: ‘oh great she has a knife and a weird mum so let’s buddy up’? Or was there no one else for you to pair up with?”

“There were friends in my class I could have worked with but I felt a bit bad for Morrigan, though it wasn’t charity. She never would have abided me if she thought I pitied her.”

“I can imagine. So what was it then? Why her?”

“I knew she was smart, genuinely incredibly smart, and I wanted to get good grades. It was that simple: she was my best chance at producing and submitting work at the level I was accustomed to. After we worked together on a few projects I proved to her that I was smart too and she’s tolerated me ever since.”

“Ha,” he said drily. “Her tolerating _you_?”

“I really like her Alistair. We’ve been through a lot together,” Celia said in a warning voice.

“I get it. I mean, I don’t. At all. But I respect…whatever it is.” He didn’t want her to think he was having a bad time, or was just going to spend the whole walk being nasty about her friends so he changed the subject: “This is great. I’m so glad you asked me.”

“I’m glad you came,” she said with a broad smile.

And it really was a perfect day for a hike, mostly overcast and not too windy with the sun showing its face occasionally for pleasant interludes of warmth. The trail was reasonably easy, the inclines gradual and the ground mostly even. The woods were beautiful, as was the rolling landscape and fields when the view peeked through the trees. He was enjoying himself, especially being in Celia’s company now the others were long gone, though she couldn’t speak much for panting as soon as they got started on even the mildest hills.

After a couple of hours, she stopped and bent over, resting her hands on her knees for a moment. He waited patiently and she glanced up at him. “Don’t look so worried, I’m not actually dying: I just feel like I am.” Her entire face was pink and she swiped the back of her hand across her sweaty forehead.

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I’m just tired.”

“Me too,” he lied and she let out a snort.

“I know you’re not. And I know you’re walking slowly to stay with me and I’m very grateful.”

“Actually, I’m exhausted. All these trees and this birdsong? It’s sucking the life out of me.”

“Ha ha,” she said drily. “Come on, we had better keep going or they’ll think we’re in trouble and call the emergency services.”

“We’ve got time,” he said, glancing at his watch. Having spied a grassy knoll to the side of the path a little further up, he walked to it and sat down, beckoning her over too. “Take a break.”

“I’m worried if I sit down I won’t be able to get up again,” she said, even as she flopped down beside him. Gratefully shrugging off her pack and falling right onto her back she let out a groan. “Did you bring camping gear? Because I truly might be stuck here now.”

“I’m afraid not but I have watched a lot of survival shows on TV.”

“Has that equipped you with the ability to make a fire and build a shelter out of pine fronds or something?”

“No. But it has equipped me with the knowledge that I would die of thirst and exposure very quickly.”

Celia laughed. “Oh Maker: imagine if we really did get lost out here. We’d be _hopeless_.”

“ _We_? Forget food and water: I think you’d die if you didn’t read a book for a full day.”

“Very funny.” Alistair looked down at her and saw her eyes were closed, lashes resting against her cheeks, face relaxed. Even pink and slightly sunburnt, sweaty and generally dishevelled, she was still pretty. “I might just stay here until the beetles eat all my flesh and saplings sprout through my skeleton,” she mumbled, apparently sensing his gaze.

“Not on my watch. Here: you need to drink some water,” he said, retrieving her water bottle from his pack: partly because it was true and partly to distract himself from staring at her.

She propped herself up to take and sip then fell backwards again and closed her eyes once more. “I’m honestly not sure I’m going to make it. This is it for me: this is where I die.”

“Don’t give up so quickly. Come on, we’re in this together. I’ll get you home. I promise. In fact, I swear it.”

She cracked open an eye, looking entertained but let out a disbelieving huff. “Such sincerity. I _almost_ believe you.”

“I’m out of work if you die here so it’s fair to say I have a considerable stake in seeing you get back,” Alistair reminded her.

She laughed, shading her eyes to look up at him properly. “That is a motivating factor and a half. Now it makes sense: for a second there I thought you were getting all soppy on me.”

“Not me: heart of stone. All about the money,” he said as he lay down beside her, discovering the grass was surprisingly comfortable. “Couldn’t care less about you dying here except for my pay cheque. Otherwise I would tell the beetles to munch away.”

She made an amused humming sound. “It figures. Lucky for me then.”

They rested in silence for a moment: him gazing up at the sky though the branches while Celia closed her eyes again. Alistair had been joking and it was obvious that she knew that. It was the kind of joke he made every day. But still he felt uneasy letting his last comment rest. “I do care about you. Just to be clear,” he blurted out, his voice unexpectedly loud, even to himself in the otherwise peaceful clearing. He turned his head towards her to watch for her reaction.

She opened her eyes and stared up at the tree canopy. He got the sense she was thinking very carefully about how to respond. “I care about you too Alistair,” she finally said.

He was plucking at the grass beside him, pulling and breaking bits off mindlessly. “Which is why there is something I need to tell you. Something I should have told you earlier.”

“I’m listening,” she said, though that much was evident.

“It’s about your parents.”

Now he had her full and absolute attention and she swivelled her head towards him. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not going to like it,” he said and she listened, her expression unreadable, as he gave a brief summary of her parent’s involvement with her security arrangements at Warden Watch.

“Oh. Is that what this is about?” she said flatly when he had finished.

Part of him wondered where she had thought the conversation was going. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner. I’ve hated keeping this from you.”

“It’s fine,” she said, raising a hand briefly towards the sky then letting it fall again at her side.

“You don’t mind?” he said, surprised at her complete lack of reaction. Perhaps she was more fatigued than he had realised.

“I’ve known for a long time.”

“ _What_?” Alistair said, pushing himself quickly upright and peering down at her in disbelief.

“I believe in coincidences but come on, all of this was a bit too convenient right? Really? We just happen to be neighbours? Denerim is a big place. And I _know_ my parents. I thought they might have had a hand in it. Either that or Tevinter really, really didn’t trust me.”

That…all made perfect sense in hindsight. Alistair wasn’t exactly keen to confess that he hadn’t figured it out on his own and had needed Duncan to explicitly explain it. “I didn’t know at first. That day with Mittens on the roof. I had no idea who you were. No one had told me.”

Celia laughed. “When I told my parents about you rescuing Mittens, they were immediately very keen on you. Telling me: ‘he sounds great! You should spend heaps of time with him!’ which I did think was a bit odd given you were _supposedly_ a complete stranger. At the time I figured it was just because I’d had bad luck dating recently and they figured you sounded sentient enough to be a candidate.”

“Do they always push you to hook up with random men you’ve just met? Is that normal in your family?” Alistair asked with dry amusement.

“Oh Maker no,” Celia clarified quickly. “Just ones they’ve hired apparently.” He let out a snort of laughter as she took a moment to realise what she’d said then laughed too. “Wow. That sounded wrong.”

As her laughter faded into a sigh, Alistair began to tug anxiously at bits of grass again. “So you’re not angry?”

“I’ll have words with them, but I know they’re just trying to look after me.”

He hesitated. “I meant with me. You’re not angry at me?”

He saw her jolt slightly. “Alistair,” she said, sounding taken aback. “No, I’m not angry with you at all. I was pretty sure something had been arranged, I have been for a long time. But I still appreciate you confirming it, and for being so honest with me, I assume in spite of your contract.”

“Ah. About that…There might be some trouble if anyone knows I’ve told you. Or confirmed it for you, as the case may be.”

“Then I won’t say anything,” she told him seriously, sitting up and bringing their faces more level. “Not if it risks you getting reassigned.”

But Alistair was distracted from any response to that by a few dried leaves that had become caught in her hair from the ground. “Maker,” he said quietly, “Look at the state of you.” He leaned forward and brushed at the leaves, gently easing them loose, careful not to tug her hair and hurt her.

The action brought their faces very close together, but Alistair barely registered this fact, focused as he was on his task. That was until he noticed how still she had gone. Suddenly nervous, he became motionless too, his fingers still tangled in her hair. She blinked at him, her lashes rising and falling in what seemed like slow motion. Alistair would have sworn he knew the colour of her eyes before this moment, but at this proximity and in the sunlight, he became aware of the most incredible array of different shades in them and felt hypnotised. He was still contemplating them when suddenly her lips were against his, as soft as he had always imagined, tasting vaguely of sunscreen and moving ever so slightly as if she was murmuring something.

Then she pulled back just as quickly, her eyes wide. He caught a glimpse of her astonished expression before she covered her mouth with her hand, her cheeks aflame.

It was hardly his first kiss but Alistair was staggered in a way he never had been before. It was as if his brain had undergone a hard shutdown and all he could do was stare at her, mouth slightly open, pulse hammering in his throat, still holding up a leaf. And he was _silent_. He’d written long, rambling speeches to her in his head about how much he adored her. About the way she would tuck her hair behind her ears then untuck it again ten seconds later. And how she hummed when she was looking for a passage in a book. And the admonishing way she would drag out his name when she was trying not to laugh at something he had said.

But his mind betrayed him by abruptly becoming devoid of every sentiment, leaving his tongue totally inert and useless.

He realised a beat too late that this reaction, or rather lack of a reaction, was definitely the wrong one. “I’m so sorry,” she told him breathlessly. “I’m so, _so_ sorry. I don’t know why I did that.” The leaf he was holding slipped from his fingers and fluttered to the ground. 

“I’m glad-” he began to say but she cut him off.

“It was a mistake,” she said firmly, her certainty quelling the flicker of courage in Alistair’s chest. “We really need to go. It’ll be dark before we get out of here at this rate.” Her voice was terse and her face hard. She got up, and was brushing herself down roughly as Alistair followed suit feeling numb.

“Celia,” he tried once but she ignored him. The sun dipped behind a cloud, dulling every colour and casting shade over the previously sunny clearing. Alistair was still trying to think of what to say when she marched off down the path. He followed her for a few steps before he realised his backpack was still on the ground and had to double back for it.

Celia couldn’t maintain the newfound pace and he quickly caught up again, though he remained a respectful distance behind her, watching her back, wishing he could see what was going on in her brain.

She stopped uncertainly where the path had been dissolved by rain into a short, steep descent made treacherous by loose stones. Alistair scrabbled down then turned back to offer his hands. She hesitated, then took them without meeting his eye, quickly letting go once she had made it down.

His arms fell limply back to his sides. “Should we talk about what happened back there?”

“I wasn’t thinking straight. I must have heat stroke,” Celia said brusquely and Alistair couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Let me just look it up,” he said, taking out his phone and fake typing in a very heavy-handed way as he narrated his search terms. “Symptoms. Of. Heat. Stroke. Kissing. People. True?”

“I’m sorry,” she told him again, sounding irritated. “It was impulsive and profoundly stupid and I feel awful about it. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

“That’s the thing,” he said, putting his mobile away and giving her a level look which she refused to meet. “I wish you wouldn’t feel bad about it.”

She briefly scrubbed her face with her hands. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve treated you terribly.”

“No you haven’t. Why would you say that?”

“Whatever is happening…It shouldn’t happen. It can’t.”

“I don’t think it’s as simple as just saying that. Not for me anyway. I meant what I said before: I really care about you.”

Celia grimaced. “This is my fault. I just kept letting myself…” she let out a tired sounding laugh. “You’re a bit hard to resist Alistair.”

“Then don’t,” he said, as if it was obvious – which it was.

“It can’t happen,” she said again decisively, then her expression turned pleading. “We have to stop this now, before either of us gets hurt.”

Alistair wondered with irritation if she really meant either of them or just _him_. “Do I not get a say in this? I thought you were all about me knowing my own mind?” he asked drily.

Celia shot him a guilty look. “Trust me. You could have something so much better. If you don’t see that then I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

Alistair let out a short, cynical laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding. I don’t remember being this happy for a long time. Better? How?”

“You deserve _someone_ better. I’m too narrowminded.”

Alistair’s face twisted with incredulity. “You can’t believe that.”

“I am. I always think I know best. I’d push every one of my opinions onto you. Maker, I already have! And I’m so selfish.”

“Celia. Selfish the last word I would use to describe you. You helped me when I was concussed. You called me in Redcliffe when my uncle was ill. You made me take your umbrella when I was meeting my brother and you didn’t even know that’s where I was going.”

Celia let out an exasperated noise. “Not like that…I don’t think you fully understand. This isn’t fair of me and I…I like you a lot but I…” She took a moment to compose herself and after a deep breath, gave him a direct look, her voice becoming firm. “All I want is to finish up my research and leave Denerim. I just want to go, and I’ll probably never come back. That’s _all_ I want. Nothing else that has happened since I arrived in the city has changed that for me. I mean it Alistair.” Their eyes were locked, expressions mutually defiant. A heavy silence settled around them, even the birds and insects seemed to still and grow respectfully quiet. As the moment dragged painfully on, Celia’s resolve seemed to falter a little and she added in a quieter voice. “I have to go home.”

“You think I don’t realise that?” Alistair replied peevishly. “You still haven’t unpacked half those boxes in your apartment. It’s not exactly a secret that you’re desperate to leave.”

“I didn’t expect to be here even this long. Why bother unpacking?”

“So once the books goes back to Tevinter then there’s nothing for you in Denerim,” he said flatly, stating the obvious but still somehow hoping she would contradict him.

“That’s right. And then you can just…get on with your life and forget about all this,” she said, pointedly averting her gaze and staring off into the woods, her hands clenched around her backpack straps so tightly her knuckles looked white.

Alistair knew this was it: maybe the last moment he would get to tell her how he felt before a door closed between them. But he lost his nerve. Realistically, what did he have to offer her? He cared about her. Maker, he cared about her more than he was able to admit, even to himself. But who was he to someone like her? To someone like Celia who had places to go people to impress and endless potential. He would only ever hold her back.

“Right. I guess that’s what I’ll do then,” he said, as impassively as he could, though he felt his throat clench painfully once the words were out.

She looked down at the ground. Alistair tried to detect anything in her posture or expression that hinted at disappointment. Not that he wanted to hurt her but he desperately needed a sign. Just one sign. A hint to give him the courage to – Who was he kidding?

There was nothing. She kept walking and he trailed behind, hanging his head, dragging his feet and letting her set the pace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so, so sorry and I swear this is going somewhere.


	15. Doubts

Alistair was in a state of absolute despondency. Celia too seemed low-spirited and reserved, maintaining a very intentional physical space between them at all times and only ever responding to his questions with brief answers, never looking up from her books.

All the comfortable ease had evaporated from their friendship and Alistair was feeling the absence of it keenly.

A week ago, Alistair would have said he’d give anything for Celia to kiss him, but now that she had, he would have given anything to go back to a time when she would thoughtlessly grab his wrist to get his attention, hug him to say goodbye, brush an eyelash from his cheek without pausing in whatever she was talking about or lean against him wearily as they waited for a train.

Despite feeling like he had hit a brick wall trying to speak to her immediately after the kiss, Alistair wondered if he should make another attempt to broach the subject and say…something. _“Please do it again,”_ for example, or perhaps: _“I think I’m falling in love with you.”_ But everything sounded too desperate, probably because he _felt_ so bloody desperate. And what if she just told him again that it was a mistake? That was what frightened him so much: the only thing worse than never kissing her was to have kissed and then have her tell him it didn’t mean anything. Because it _did_. To him it really did. But how could it to her when all she could think about was getting back to Highever? Alistair had no claim on her and no worthwhile counteroffers: she would go and she would be happy to get away from Denerim and she would probably never think about him again as long as she lived.

Things were so horribly stilted and awkward between them that Alistair made the mistake of assuming it couldn’t get any worse. Naturally, the Maker listened and decided to kick him while he was down.

“Nate!” Celia called and startled, Alistair looked across the library towards the unexpected new arrival. So much for being security, she had seen the man enter before he had and was already crossing the room towards him while he was lost in his worried musings. Celia hugged Nate and his hands hovered uncertainly for a moment before they rested against her back.

Alistair’s eyes narrowed, his shoulders tense as he watched on. He wasn’t jealous, he told himself, he just wished they didn’t have to embrace for quite so long.

After agonising seconds they separated. “This is a surprise!” Celia said, sounding delighted. It certainly was a surprise, Alistair thought, but not quite so enthusiastically. Feeling guilty at his own reaction, he forced a smile and generously raised a hand in the other man’s direction. Nate ignored the greeting. Alistair bit back the temptation to tell him he had to leave this part of the library. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t want to get any further on Celia’s bad side.

“My father is in town. I decided to travel with him,” Nate explained to Celia.

“He’s back again?” she asked, sounding surprised.

“And staying a while.”

“And you?”

“Leaving Friday.”

“Ah,” Celia said, disappointment evident. “Is your dad teaching up here? He’s becoming quite the regular.”

“I have no idea what he’s been doing, but it isn’t teaching. He must be working on a new project. He won’t say what. And he’s sensitive about it so I stopped trying to ask him.”

“Dad says he has been looking fatigued.”

“That’s why I came: I didn’t want him to drive the whole way alone.”

“Oh. Well. I’m glad you popped in. I thought you were…It’s nice…I um, I’m glad you came,” Celia stuttered, her forced, chipper tone fooling no one in the room.

Nate let out a noise that was half-sigh, half-groan, as he threw a quick look in Alistair’s direction. “And I wanted to see you,” he admitted. Alistair reluctantly took the queue to give them some space, and began to slowly lap the library. As it was empty, their voices carried and he could still hear every word of their conversation. Perhaps that was a little intentional, and perhaps Alistair was making an extra effort to listen: he could admit that much to himself.

“It has been a long time,” Celia said in a more measured voice.

“It has. That’s on me.”

“You’ve been mad at me.”

“Don’t be overdramatic,” Nate snapped and safely out of view, Alistair rolled his eyes at him. _Who_ was being overdramatic exactly?

“Well you haven’t been avoiding Fergus, or any of the others. Just me.”

“I was…envious perhaps,” Nate conceded reluctantly.

“What of?”

“You know what Celia. I’ve wanted to leave Highever since I was a child and then you beat me to it.”

“It wasn’t a race. And you can still get out: I’m not stopping you.”

“But an opportunity just fell into your lap, all the while my parents are working constantly to cage me in. And you had to keep rubbing it in my face every time we spoke.”

“I wasn’t!”

“You wouldn’t stop gloating!”

Aggravated by the accusation, Alistair took a step in their direction before stopping himself with some difficulty. “I didn’t mean to,” Celia answered so quietly he barely caught her response.

“Can you blame me? I resented how easy it was for you to leave.”

Celia laughed cynically and Alistair picked a random book of the shelf and pretended to read, even though he knew they couldn’t see him. “And all I wanted was to stay. What a pair we make.”

“You’re homesick.”

“A bit. Doesn’t help when particular friends back in Highever keep ignoring my calls.”

“I regret that. But I thought…I thought silence would do less damage than what I might say out of bitterness. In the end I realised I was angry at myself, not at you.”

“Is this an apology Nate?”

“I was hoping that would be evident.”

“Traditionally the words ‘I’m’ and ‘sorry are uttered.”

“Celia…”

“Don’t worry: I’ll take what I can get. I’ve just missed you.” Celia said and Alistair faked a gag. Really? She was letting him off that easily? Without the bastard even properly apologising? “And you need to broach this with your parents: they don’t own your future.”

“I will.” There was a pause. “That’s not what I came here to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” Celia said, in a playfully intrigued way that made Alistair’s stomach drop. However, a moment later she added, “But you look worried? Nate, what is it?”

“You must be aware of the interest your work has inspired, from a wide variety of parties and not all of them friendly.”

Celia sighed audibly and Alistair winced for her. “I’m not blind. Nor deaf. Though I do my best to ignore it,” Celia explained, a little coldly to Alistair’s ears.

“I wanted to warn you. Do you know how bad it is? Did you know your dad -”

“Fergus told me Dad is being dragged into it, but when I raise it with him he just said he has always received his fair share of controversy. He said it’s nothing new. But I don’t know what the emails say.”

“They’re vitriolic, even violent threats. Against both of you, and even your mother and Fergus’s family.”

Celia took a sharp intake of breath that he could hear across the room. Alistair stopped pretending to read. “About Oren? You’ve seen them?” Celia asked.

“My father has. Even he was shaken. I didn’t know anything could affect him like that anymore.”

“Why are you - What do you expect me to do with this Nate? I can’t stop now.”

“I know. I knew you would never give up.”

“Then why do you want to discuss this? Did you just want me to feel worse?”

“I want you to be careful. I’m worried about you.” Alistair snapped his book closed and shoved it upside-down back in a random spot on the shelf.

Celia was silent for a long time and Alistair wondered if they had left suddenly. He walked back around the shelves until he could see them again. Celia was staring at Nate, arms folded. “Do you know something about all this? About who’s doing it?” she asked him. She didn’t sound accusing but Alistair wondered what had prompted her to ask.

Nate stared intently at her. To Alistair his face seemed blank, but Celia seemed to be searching for something his expression. Finally, he shook his head. “No. Nothing specific. No more than you.”

“Then it is the same as it ever has been.” Celia told him dismissively.

“Before it was just general complaints. It’s getting personal now.”

“They can say what they like about me: it’s all lies.”

“But what they are threatening: it feels like it isn’t just idle words. And the rest of your family is involved now too.”

“ _Involved_? Isn’t that a bit of a stretch?”

“Says the woman with a bodyguard.”

“He’s not here for me: he’s here for the book.” Celia and Alistair both knew that wasn’t strictly true but he wasn’t about to protest. He wasn’t even supposed to be listening.

Apparently his presence hadn’t gone entirely unnoticed however as Nate jutted his chin in Alistair’s direction. “The book isn’t in here. Why doesn’t he go shadow it instead?”

“Why are _you_ here Nate?” Celia asked, sounding irritated again. “I just can’t understand you. I was happy to see you but you’re being so…”

“What am I being?”

“You said you wanted to warn me but it just feels like you’re trying to scare me. I don’t know why.”

“Celia,” he said placatingly. “I’m not here to sabotage you. I want to see you succeed.”

“Do you?” she said with an irritated laugh and an ambiguous wave of her arms.

“Yes,” Nate told her, with the most emphasis Alistair had heard from the man since his arrival. Celia seemed to catch it too and lowered her hands. But then he added, “You know I do. Be rational for once Celia, I get so tired of you constantly looking for things to be offended about,” and Alistair’s jaw clenched.

Celia twisted her hair and pulled it over her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit sensitive about everything at the moment.”

“Can we go somewhere to talk? Alone?” he looked pointedly at Alistair again who belatedly and unconvincingly tried to pretend to not be listening by staring at the ceiling.

Celia on the other hand, didn’t even glance in Alistair’s direction when she said. “I’d love to. Let’s go for dinner tonight. Is 7:30 okay?” When Nate nodded she said, “Pick me up.”

* * *

It was a long, restless night and Alistair was afraid to knock on Celia’s door the next morning. What if Nate answered? Maker’s breath: he would never recover. So he went to the library on his own, checking his mobile the whole train ride hoping to see her wondering where he was. But instead he arrived to find her already there. Did she even come home the previous night? And why did it matter to him anyway? Celia was a client. His neighbour. And she and Nate were friends. Maybe it was just dinner? And even if it wasn’t just dinner was it any of his business? Alistair tried to rationalise that he had no reason to feel so dismayed. That jealousy was totally inappropriate. But no matter how many times he reminded himself, nothing shifted the unsettled feeling in his gut.

Celia looked up briefly as he walked in. “Hi,” she said, sounding distracted.

“Hi,” he echoed, but she was already tapping away at her laptop with almost frantic speed, apparently determined to ignore him. “Did you have a good night?” Celia stopped typing abruptly and stared at her computer screen without looking up.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Good,” Alistair said, as neutrally as he could manage.

Celia traced her finger down the page of an open book, apparently reading intently. After a time, Alistair spoke again. “You and Nate go way back, right?”

This time Celia did look at him, raising her eyebrows. “We grew up seeing a lot of each other. But you knew that already.”

“Yeah. Guess I did,” he replied flatly.

“So what are you really asking Alistair?” she asked pointedly. Alistair could hear blood pounding in his ears. He swallowed, trying to gather his thoughts but Celia didn’t wait for an answer. She shook her head slightly and started typing again.

“Are you sure about this?”

“About what?”

“I know he’s your friend but so am I. Or I thought I was.”

She gave him a narrow look over the top of her glasses. “Of course you’re my friend.”

“So forgive me for saying that I don’t think it’s a good idea. The two of you.”

He was being vague, and was too much of a coward to say what he really meant, but Celia seemed to catch his meaning anyway. “Oh really? Based on the couple of times you’ve seen him from a distance?”

“He wouldn’t answer your calls. He ignored you for months.”

“I told you: he’s had his own problems.”

Alistair scoffed. “So what? He’s not happy so you shouldn’t be happy either? He was punishing you for being successful. That’s not how it’s supposed to be when you care about someone.”

She looked a little taken back by his frankness and removed her glasses, rubbing at the lenses with the hem of her jumper for a moment before placing them down on the desk. “And he’s apologised since so I’m not going to dwell on it.”

“It’s not just that. You said he always made you feel like you were wrong. You said it was hard work to be with him.”

Her body went rigid. “I never said that. You don’t…How could you know anything about it?” she asked, but she was more stunned than angry. Stunned because he was right, and they both knew it.

Alistair immediately realised his mistake but there was no going back now, unless he claimed to be psychic and somehow he didn’t think she would believe that. “When you were drunk and slept at my flat,” he explained simply. “You talked about him then.”

A frown of betrayal replaced her look of astonishment. “You _promised_ me I didn’t say anything personal that night.”

He shrugged. “I lied. You were already so embarrassed and I didn’t think it would help if you…That’s not the point.”

She squared herself and folded her arms. “Then what is?”

He took a breath. “You shouldn’t be with someone who makes you feel inferior. You’re incredible Celia. You’re kind, hardworking and formidably smart and if anyone makes you feel less than that, even for a moment, _they’re_ the one who’s wrong. By a longshot.”

Celia’s shoulders dropped and she unfolded her arms. “Oh,” she said in barely more than a whisper. Her eyes were glistening but she blinked rapidly a few times and stared resolutely back at her laptop screen. When she spoke again it was to abruptly change the subject and ruin his day, “You can make plans for Friday: I’m going back to Highever.”

“ _What_?” he said, then quickly moderated his horrified reaction. “You’ve finished your research? You’re leaving?”

She shook her head briefly. “Just for a visit. Nate can drive me there so I thought it was a good opportunity to visit home.”

Though slightly relieved, Alistair’s heart still felt like a limp, deflated balloon and a, “Right,” was all he managed to respond with.

“I miss my parents,” she explained, almost apologetically.

“Train back?” he asked. It wasn’t a complete sentence but he was proud of himself for even managing that much.

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll catch the train back to Denerim.”

“When?”

“Maybe a few weeks. Or a month.”

“A month?” he echoed, his voice sounding slightly strangled. “That’s…a while.”

“I think it would be for the best, don’t you?” she asked him carefully and, unable to answer, he shrugged vaguely. “What about you? What will you do?”

Apart from sitting alone in his silent flat feeling miserable, replaying their catastrophic kiss in his mind and pathetically wondering after her? “I’ll be back in the office, I guess. I’ll find something to keep myself occupied with.”

“Okay.”

“Celia?” There was a pause in which Alistair tried and failed to formulate the rest of his sentence. “You deserve a break,” he finished lamely. Celia waited expectantly, then when it became clear he wasn’t going to add anything else, she resumed typing, her face unreadable.

* * *

After Celia had left (early Friday morning and without saying good bye), Alistair got very bored, very quickly.

Everything was exactly like it had been at the Warden Watch office. The same stupid monitors. The same stupid filing cabinets. The same stupid pencil cup. Alistair gave it a shove and it fell over, pens rolling and clattering onto the floor. He folded his arms on the desk in front of him so he could rest his head on them and groaned.

With that out of his system he reluctantly got to work, desperate to try and distract himself. There was filing to do. He needed to get these forms…Celia would probably forget about him while she was away. She probably already had. They could meet in a crowded room tomorrow and she would offer her hand and introduce herself as if for the first time. Alistair looked down and realised he had been hole punching a stack of papers on the wrong side.

It had been nearly three weeks. _Three weeks._ Three weeks without hearing her laugh. Or smelling her wafting shampoo as she shook out her hair. Or feeling her arm press against his on the underground as they shared music and one set of earbuds. Or hearing her bicker with him over whether they should have olives on the pizza they were ordering. Not even a text message!

He had thought the time he had spent away in Redcliffe had been tough but this? This was torture. Alistair recalled Cullen’s suggestion that he might quickly forget Celia once they were apart and it made him immediately want to track down his friend and kick him in the shins. But that was only because he was so desperate to find someone to blame for things going so wrong between him and Celia. Someone other than himself of course.

Inadvisably, Alistair then proceeded to spend most of his Friday afternoon at work flagrantly stalking her social media. They had never actually added each other as friends and far be it from him to do so now in the middle of…whatever this was. It hadn’t really seemed urgent when they were seeing each other every day and he certainly had never felt the need to look up her account before. But now he had started he couldn’t stop and was tumbling deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole, feeling worse every minute that passed.

Mostly focusing on the photos, he had started on an album she was tagged in from the previous weekend. He had scrolled through, recognising some of her friends from the hike, occasionally catching glimpses of her in the background of the party. Her hair was in a messy bun and she was dressed much as she always was, though her jumper seemed extra bulky. He guessed it must be colder there. She wasn’t hamming it up for the camera like some of the others and he could only find her in the periphery until suddenly there was a photo of her seated in a booth where she was looking straight at the camera. Caught off guard by it, Alistair felt like he had been punched in the heart.

Tearing his eyes from hers, he kept clicking through the album and nearly missed a picture where she was behind a group that was posing. She was at the bar, standing very close to Nate and obviously in deep discussion. She looked focused, but not particularly happy which comforted Alistair, though their proximity made him uneasy. Perhaps it had been very loud…He clicked to the next photo in the sequence and she was laughing, her eyes nearly closed and her nose crinkling. Alistair nearly closed the entire browser window – it would have been the best thing to do - but a morbid curiosity made him keep going. He took a sip of the coffee he had forgotten was in front of him and found it cold and sour.

When Celia didn’t appear again in that album, he started going through earlier photos she was tagged in, working his way backwards through her trip to Highever. There were some with her nephew and a woman who must be her sister-in-law sitting at a table. Celia was offering a forkful of cake to the toddler and he was ignoring the food and looking at her adoringly. Then she was in front of a fireplace sitting cross legged with an unmistakable ball of cat fur on her lap and a book open on the carpet beside her. An older woman was partly in frame handing her a mug. Her mum? Then she was on a boat, squinting and laughing, holding a hat on her head apparently against the wind with foamy grey waves behind her. Nate was tagged in that picture though he wasn’t actually in the shot. They had gone sailing together? Andraste save him of course they had. Alistair took her on a public ferry down a notoriously polluted river and meanwhile, Nate took her out to sea on a _yacht_. At least Fergus was tagged too, Alistair noted as he ground his teeth together.

He kept clicking and soon after got a start when he came across the photo of Celia at The Gallows: the one he had taken and still had as his phone background. Of course that had been for a joke, but it didn’t hurt to see her every day looking so radiant: her beaming smile and her hair everywhere as usual, caught up by the wind. It made him ache to remember how easy it had been that day, just to be with her and to make her laugh. She obviously hadn’t been posting much since she had been in Denerim so this picture had garnered a fairly substantial response from her friends.

 _‘Hmmm you look happy for someone who said (and I quote) that Denerim is: “the most unfortunate, miserable, revolting mass of concrete to ever blemish the surface of Thedas”_ ,’ someone he didn’t know had written under a swathe of other comments of people telling Celia how gorgeous she looked and how much they missed her. He squinted at the profile picture and realised it must be her sister-in-law again: Oriana.

 _‘I’ve been convinced very thoroughly it has at least sooome merits…’_ Celia had responded.

 _‘You have a good day hon? ;)’_ Oriana had replied.

_‘The best. Call you later xx’_

He read that exchange over a few times before proceeding. He really should have told Celia to make this profile private. He wished he had: then he wouldn’t be doing this now. He began scrolling down the album of tagged photos, wondering how far back it went. He saw Celia’s past few years in rapid reverse: in a graduation gown struggling to hold an impracticably large bouquet of flowers, exhausted looking selfies in libraries or study halls, what seemed like a hundred different beverages raised in celebration towards the camera, on stage participating in a debate, at the beach waving from the water with friends, on a horse looking nervous, in a bookstore with Morrigan, pointing excitedly to a random road sign, being kissed sloppily on the cheek by Zevran when they were both clearly beyond drunk, on a family holiday in Orlais with a younger looking Fergus, in a woollen hat stood proudly next to a wonky snowman, at a café with Nate’s arm around her shoulders…

Maker help him: he had taken this way, way too far. Feeling thoroughly creepy and now a bit melancholy, he had finally had enough and Alistair navigated away from his self-destructive stalking spiral. He clicked back to her main page to stare at her profile picture (unsurprisingly: a picture of her hugging Mittens in which the cat took up most of the frame).

Alistair wondered at how he could have just seen so much yet be left feeling like he knew her less than ever. All the friends she had, all the places she went and all the things she was doing…it felt painfully like he was getting a glimpse into her _real_ life. The real life she would leave Denerim for, one day forever.

A life that he had no place in.

He closed the entire browser window and looked at the time: he had accidentally been at work for nearly an hour over his finish time.

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and groaned. He needed a drink.

* * *

Alistair was seated at the bar of The Nug’s Tail and feeling increasingly sorry for himself when he noticed a woman approaching him in dangerously tall heels. “Hi,” she said, dragging the word out for an uncomfortably long period of time.

“Hi?” Alistair said. She was wearing a short dress that had obviously been carefully selected to match the blue of her eyes and he had to admit the effect was striking, especially with the contrasting bright red of her lips.

“Hi,” she said again, leaning on the bar and smiling broadly, before quickly adjusting her expression into a forced kind of pout.

“Can I help you? I don’t work here, just to be clear. But was there something you were after?”

“Just to talk for a minute.”

“I’m not waiting for a Tinder date. If you’re expecting someone, it’s not me sorry,” he told her quickly, just in case that was a point of confusion. It kept happening for some strange reason.

“I’m really glad if you’re not waiting for a date,” she said and adjusted her posture so she could stick her chest out in a way that was admittedly quite distracting but also looked fairly uncomfortable. “I’m actually out for a Hen Night. The girls are back there,” she said, pointing towards a table, the occupants of which waved enthusiastically at Alistair then erupted into noisy laughter, shrieking and grabbing at each other like they had just witnessed something hilarious.

“Are you looking for a ‘congratulations’?” Alistair asked with confusion and mounting suspicion.

“Oh no. _I’m_ not getting married. I’m toooo-tally available,” she informed him with a complete lack of subtly, looking through her lashes and brandishing her hand to demonstrate the absence of a ring. “We’re playing this game. It’s a photo scavenger hunt and we’re all competing to get a selfie with the hottest guy.”

Alistair felt heat rising up his neck and tried to keep his expression neutral. “Well,” he said thoughtfully, peering around the bar. “That guy over there might be up for it if you arrange a taxi back to the nursing home for him afterwards.”

She flicked her hair back in a very intentional way as she laughed then leaned forward and put a hand on his knee. “You’re so _funny_. Did I mention I get double points if I can kiss you?”

“No, you didn’t mention that. I’m sure the rules for this are mindboggling intricate.”

She slid her hand a little further up his thigh and he glanced down at it uncertainly. “They’re really not. But I like to win and if you do say yes…” she let him sit in suspense for a moment before finishing in a breathy voice, “I’ll give you something in return.”

“I already have all the kitchen appliances I need thanks.”

She tittered with laughter again but Alistair detected just the slightest edge of frustration. “I meant my phone number.”

“Already have one of those too.”

He had said it jokingly but his reluctance to engage in the flirting was enough to make her remove her hand from his leg and step back. “Sorry: do you have a partner? You should have said.”

“I don’t.” She lowered her gaze looking dejected and Alistair grew immediately flustered. “No! It’s not that – you – That is– I don’t know you - obviously - but I’m sure you’re great! And that you have…a personality! I mean: a _great_ personality!”

Her downcast expression evaporated almost instantly and was replaced with amusement as she watched him struggle with obvious enjoyment. “You are so fucking sweet.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and laughed awkwardly. “There is someone. She… it’s complicated,” he said by way of explanation.

“Yeah?” the woman let out an exhausted sounding sigh and leaned against the bar again in a much more relaxed and natural way. “You’re gorgeous, you have a sense of humour and you seem nice so what’s the issue? Do you know how hard it is to find anyone in this city who is even _one_ of those things? I can see you’re trying really hard to not look down my dress for Maker’s sake, you’re basically a saint. She’s a fool if she doesn’t pin you down. _I’d_ pin you down,” she told him with emphasis.

“No, she’s not she just has to move away and I don’t want to hold her back and… She’s so smart and she can be so funny, just when you’re not expecting her to be…Maker, she’s amazing actually and I don’t feel like I have enough to offer and I…I just want her to be happy. That’s all I want.”

The woman stared at him for a long time. Alistair could see the rest of the Hen Party in the background looking confused and probably wondering what the holdup was. “Oh Maker’s balls. Tonight is shaping up real well, isn’t it? Good start: I had to pick a guy in the middle of a breakdown over some chick who doesn’t have a clue how lucky she is.”

“I’m not having a breakdown!” he objected then caught himself. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m unloading all this on you.”

The woman examined her nails. “My advice? Get the photo with me and make sure she sees it. Make her realise what she would be giving up. Might snap her to her senses.” She snapped her fingers to emphasise her point.

Alistair shifted uncomfortably on his stool. “That’s really not my style.”

“Of course it isn’t,” she said with a scoff. “Apparently your style is staying single and drinking alone instead.” Alistair acknowledged that with a shrug: it was harsh but fair. She seemed to give him another moment to reconsider her offer then softened slightly and said, not unkindly, “Maybe you should call a friend or something.”

“Yeah. Maybe I should. Sorry about your game.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she said lightly. “The night is young and I’ll find someone who is actually capable of cracking a smile for the pic. See ya.”

The woman turned sharply wobbled back to her table in her heels, laughing as she indicated her failure with two thumbs down. Welcoming their friend back into the fold, the group of women began to loudly boo him. Alistair propped his elbows on the bar and rested his chin in his hands, ignoring them until they got bored of taunting him.

Not long after, the bartender, either oblivious to his mood or sadistically leaning into it, began playing Frank Sinatra. Alistair downed the rest of his drink when ‘ _Where Are You?’_ started playing and it occurred to him that the woman was right and he really shouldn’t be drinking alone. He messaged Leliana and twenty minutes later she found him, still at the bar. She kissed both his cheeks in her usual fashion then greeted him with a concerned, “I haven’t got long Alistair. Are you alright?”

“Peachy,” he said miserably.

“Sweetheart,” she said as she nimbly sprang onto the stool beside him and flagged the bartender for her usual drink. “Your text just said ‘ _help_ ’ and your location.” Leliana leaned in to examine him more closely. “What’s the matter with you? You look awful. Have you even touched the skin care I got you at Midwinter? You’re looking all grey and fatigued. And what’s this about then?” she asked, sweeping a hand back and forth along her own jaw in reference to his untended stubble.

“I’m back in the office and it is the _worst_. I’m already losing my mind from boredom.”

“And that is why you’re so forlorn? Work?”

He inhaled deeply. “Celia’s gone back to Highever,” he said, then reflected with shock on how much it had hurt just to say her name out loud for the first time in nearly a month.

Leliana’s eyes widened. “For good?”

“For a visit. With Nate. That guy she used to know. Still knows. Obviously. They had dinner and then they left Denerim. Together.” He hung his head over his drink and Leliana reached over to pat his back a few times

“Oh Alistair. You’re a bit heartbroken, aren’t you?”

Yes, he was. But she didn’t need to put it so bluntly. “How could I be?” Alistair shrugged. “It’s not like we had a contract. She can do whatever she likes.”

“Are you sure it was even a date? Or was it just friends having dinner?”

“I don’t know. They definitely have history.”

“And what about your history with her?”

“There is no history.” He could sense Leliana’s sceptical look without even seeing it. “We…never even talked about anything.”

“ _Nothing_ happened? You spent all that time together, you fell head over heels in love with her and-”

“Says who?”

“You did.”

“I did not. Did you hallucinate a conversation with me?”

Leliana laughed. “You say it every time you talk about her and how utterly wonderful and brilliant she is. It just radiates off you Alistair. You get all excitable and giddy.” She let out a long sigh. “Last month you spent ten minutes explaining to me how Celia always eats the red M&Ms first because she is convinced they taste better as if it was the most fascinating piece of information to ever grace human consciousness.”

“Well, I do think it’s interesting,” Alistair said defensively.

“No one else does. Doesn’t that tell you something?” He shook his head. “If you’re uncertain how you feel about her maybe-”

“I know how I feel,” he said with conviction and Leliana lowered her chin and gave him a small, approving smile.

“Are you worried she doesn’t feel the same?” she asked patiently. Alistair flailed his hands about ambiguously. Leliana swirled her drink and looked at it thoughtfully. “When I met Celia I thought her very sincere but perhaps I misjudged her.”

“What do you mean by that?” Alistair asked, suddenly wary. He didn’t have a clue what Leliana was driving at but it sounded like an insult.

“I didn’t think she was the kind of person to lead a man on just for fun.”

“Of course she’s not!” Alistair protested hastily. “No one has been led anywhere. I came down this path very much of my own volition,” he said, though ‘own volition’ incorrectly implied he had a choice in falling for her when in reality, it was entirely out of his control.

“Precisely. So if there have been signs from her then I’m inclined to think they are genuine. You just need to have a bit more faith in them.” When Alistair responded with a blank look Leliana elaborated, “Thoughtful gestures, compliments, little touches…”

Alistair briefly recalled her leaping to hug him when he got back from Redcliffe, her outstretched hand at the bar after her speech, her fingertips brushing against his back following the conversation about his mother…then it was all quickly replaced by the memory of her embracing Nate and he became immediately dejected. “She’s just generally a nice person. To everyone. It doesn’t mean she _likes_ me.”

Leliana’s eyes filled with unadulterated pity. “I have no doubt she does, Alistair,” she assured him. Unconvinced, Alistair ignored this and took a drink, staring pointedly at the liquor display behind the bar. “I’m still finding it difficult to believe that truly nothing at all has happened between you. Everyone else can see you’re in love with her so surely Celia can too. Was there never a moment where she....” Alistair put down his glass and resting his elbows on the bar, buried his face in his hands. “Alistair?” Leliana asked accusingly.

“She kissed me,” he mumbled into his hands.

“What!? Are you telling me I know what brand of dish soap she prefers thanks to you but you failed to mention _this_?”

“It wasn’t something I wanted to talk about.”

“I would have thought you’d be singing it from the rooftops.” His face still hidden in his hands, Alistair slowly shook his head. “What did you do?” Leliana asked accusingly. “Andraste guide me! What did you _do_?”

He looked up. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I mean I didn’t react at all.”

“Alistair! You just ignored it?” Leliana asked, her disappointment palpable.

“One moment there were leaves in her hair the next we were talking about her going back to Highever,” he explained ineffectually. “I was upset about it and then…It all happened really quickly. I panicked. And we didn’t part on the best of terms. She kept saying it was a mistake.” He lowered his head slightly and made the understatement of the age: “I think I fucked up.”

Leliana let out a string of what Alistair could only assume were curses in Orlesian. “And you haven’t said anything about it since? Don’t tell me you don’t still have feelings for her: it’s written all over your miserable face.”

“I just…the right moment hasn’t come.”

Leliana shook her head slowly at him. “There is no such thing as a perfect moment Alistair. Maker, you’re such a _romantic_. I love that about you but right now I also want to throttle you.”

“Go ahead. Couldn’t make me feel any worse,” Alistair said pitifully.

Leliana tutted and said something else in Orlesian that Alistair guessed might mean ‘pathetic’. But when she spoke to him again in the Common Tongue her voice was encouraging. “You know what you need to do, don’t you?”

“Cullen says I need to maintain my professionalism at all costs. At all costs Leliana,” he said, making a chopping motion with his hand.

“Alistair, I can guarantee that nowhere in your job description does it say that you can’t have a human heart.”

“But our policy definitely does say something about it, not in those exact words.”

“Your homework was always late, your tie was always crooked, you used to skip class just to – what was the excuse you always used? You wanted to ‘get some fresh air’? And now you’re suddenly worried about rules?”

“This is real life though. I’m not a kid anymore and Cullen said –”

Leliana cut him off with a dismissive shake of her head and a single raised finger. “I don’t care what Cullen says. Cullen lives in a world of absolute black and white and one day something or somebody is going to come along and make him see colour and I guarantee he’ll make a hypocrite of himself yet.”

His Cullen-shaped shield crumbling, Alistair tried another defence. “It’s probably too late anyway. She’s probably back with Nate.”

“You don’t know that.”

He raised his shoulders ambiguously. “She’ll move back to Highever in a couple of months. Maybe even weeks. I’ll never see her again. She won’t want baggage like me. She’ll hook up with someone on her level: some famous history professor or a brain surgeon or an astrophysicist...”

Leliana let out an exasperated noise. “You’re just making ridiculous excuses. You’re a coward!”

“Hey!” he protested. “Look, I’m already suffering over here. Could you go at least a little bit easy on me? Please?” Leliana pursed her lips and tilted her head in an expression that held absolutely no sympathy whatsoever and Alistair wilted under her gaze. “She made me realise everything that has been missing from my life, everything I didn’t _know_ was missing because I’ve never had it before.”

“You sound as if you wish you’d never met her.”

“Maker no! I didn’t mean that. I wouldn’t give up having met her for anything,” Alistair objected quickly. “Not for all the cheese in Orlais.”

“What if you went after her? Followed her to Highever?”

Alistair gave his friend a horrified look. “She might call the police.”

Leliana tutted. “There are phones in Highever, and there is internet access. She’s not leaving the planet once her research is done.”

“Yeah,” Alistair said forlornly, clearly broadcasting that this was in no way going to be enough for him.

“Then take a risk. What have you got to lose if she’s leaving anyway?”

Alistair shrugged with his whole body. “Possibly her friendship. And definitely my pride. Oh, and maybe the will to get out of bed in the morning. Nothing major.”

Leliana was thoughtful as she finished her drink, pulling a lipstick from her purse and reapplying it in a few practiced swipes before checking her reflection the mirror behind the bar. “You’re scared of her saying she doesn’t feel the same. But do you think you can live the rest of your life not knowing for sure? Or that you’d ever be able to move on wondering if you missed your chance?”

“No. I don’t,” Alistair said quietly into his beer. Part of Alistair had secretly hoped Leliana would offer him false assurances and blind optimism, but he knew she spoke honestly.

“Then do something. No one else is going to sort this out for you,” Leliana told him, briefly squeezing his arm as she slipped off the barstool to leave. “Be brave.”


	16. Paperwork

Being brave was one thing, but what if Alistair never even got the chance to speak to Celia ever again?

He thought a lot about calling her…or emailing her…or sending a bloody carrier pigeon but ultimately, he didn’t have a clue what to say. Or rather he did know what to say and it terrified him. He wasn’t afraid to tell her he loved her. He wasn’t even afraid of being rejected. But to make her feel guilty and at fault for _his_ feelings? What was the point of getting it all off his chest if it just hurt the person he was supposed to care about? And what would that mean for their friendship? That was if there was even anything left of their friendship to salvage.

Still, something had to be done and Leliana had encouraged him to reach out to Celia. His friend may not have meant by text message but he had still drafted and deleted at least fifty heartfelt confessions since she had left for Highever. Tonight was no different.

No. Alistair resolved it would be different. With a surge of courage, he muted the wildlife documentary he had playing in the background so that he could fully focus. After twenty minutes of deliberation and careful revisions, he sent Celia a finely crafted, meticulously proofread text:

_“Hey.”_

_“Hi,”_ she replied almost instantly. That was a good sign, right? He hadn’t even been certain she would still be up.

_“Sorry did I wake you?”_

_“No. Can’t sleep. Watching some documentary on TV.”_

_“About penguins?”_

_“Yes…?”_

Alistair chuckled quietly as he typed _, “No way. Me too.”_

_“Ha. Enjoying it?”_

_“Yeah. They’re pretty cute. And there are lots of penguin facts.”_

_“That there are,”_ she agreed with a penguin emoji then asked, “ _Things going well at the office?”_

 _“Alright. Boring :|”_ Then he quickly added before she could quiz him on that, _“You finding creative ways to do work while you’re meant to be on hols?”_

_“Um…”_

_“Guilty!!!”_

_“Just some background reading.”_

_“That’s acceptable then: I know how much you love reading so I’ll let you get away with it.”_

_“Well that’s a relief!”_

He gave it a minute then wrote, _“Hope I’m not bothering you”_ , with his heart pounding. _“Just wanted to say hey.”_ He scrunched up his face in an enormous cringe. _“Obviously haha.”_

 _“You’re not bothering me,”_ she sent then followed it up a moment later with, _“You never do.”_

_“Can’t tell if sarcasm via text…”_

_“No sarcasm. It’s good to hear from you.”_

_“I wasn’t sure it would be.”_

There was a delay before Celia responded and Alistair flopped down and lay inert on the sofa feeling vaguely sick, simultaneously waiting for the ping of another message and fearing what it might say. Meanwhile on the TV, a penguin was waddling determinedly to gift a carefully chosen pebble to his mate. Alistair grimaced covered his eyes with his hand. When a message finally came, he prised himself up to look at it.

 _“I’ve spent the last few weeks drafting msgs to you over and over without sending them,”_ Celia wrote. The messenger app indicated she was still typing and he waited, all but holding his breath. _“I’ve wanted to talk to you but I don’t know what to say.”_

 _“I’ve been doing exactly the same thing,”_ he sent. There was a hard lump in his throat and swallowing did nothing to alleviate it. He typed: _‘I think I’m in love with y-’_ then frantically deleted it and instead wrote, _“I miss you_.”

 _“I know,”_ she wrote, then added in a quick succession of messages: _“Alistair,”_ , “ _I miss you too,”_ and _“Really badly.”_ She finished with, _“I was trying to give you space.”_

_“Thanks. I hate it.”_

_“Yeah. It’s the worst.”_

_“So, so bad.”_

_“I’ve messed everything up between us.”_

_“No you haven’t,”_ he wrote then added optimistically, “ _We’re okay,”_ with the vague hope that saying it might make it true.

She immediately followed this with a cryptic: _“I don’t know what to do.”_

_“About what?”_

She took a long time to formulate her next answer _._ “ _I don’t know. I don’t know anything about anything.”_

 _“Are you alright?”_ he asked. “ _What’s this about?”_ After ten minutes when there had been no answer he typed: _“???”_ but nothing more came from her.

He put the phone down on the floor and fell backwards into the sofa cushions, draping an arm over his eyes. She didn’t respond again but it was enough for now. In fact, it was about all he felt he could take.

* * *

A week later, he heard from Duncan that she was returning, rather than from Celia herself.

That hurt.

He wondered if she was still angry at him. Is that what had happened? She had been angry at him? Was he angry at her? He had no idea anymore: he just wanted to see her. And he wished he had a relationship bar like in some of the games he played so he could understand where in Thedas he stood with her at that moment.

He beat her to the library and waited impatiently, sitting slumped in a chair with his legs stretched out, drumming his fingers on the table. When she finally walked in, he rose with a start, took three rapid steps towards her, then stopped just as abruptly.

“You’re back,” he said simply.

Celia winced at his voice. “Yes.” She bit her lower lip without elaborating further. The silence stretched out between them and he watched her expectantly. “Alistair,” she began, her voice small and uncertain. He waited but she didn’t say anything else.

She walked mechanically to where he stood and let her bag drop to her feet. This was worse than he could have ever imagined. Alistair chuckled awkwardly, made uneasy by her uncharacteristic quietness and tried to fill the silence.

“That miserable huh? You must be keen to get all this research over with, right? You’ll be working double time. Because you’ve been home again? It must have reminded you of everything you miss. And now you’re back in sunny Denerim? Wonderful. Breathe deep, take in the traffic fumes.”

Celia looked increasingly crestfallen as he spoke. “I don’t think you understand just how difficult you’re making this.”

“I’m so sorry but I’m not personally at fault for every single one of Denerim’s many failings,” he said in mock apology. The corners of her mouth fell further and his heart broke to see it, just a little bit. “Celia,” he said, his voice serious now. “I didn’t mean to upset you by talking about Highever. I know it must have been hard leaving home again.” To his horror, her face completely crumpled in distress and her hand flew up to cover it. He studied her with alarm. “What is it? Did you not have a good trip?”

“No,” she said, her voice barely audible. “I didn’t.”

He grasped her upper arm, unable to resist comforting her even though the touch went against his own better judgement. This was already a compromise; he wanted to wrap her up protectively in his arms and had to fight hard not to do just that. His mind was racing as he thought of the abusive messages online. He thought of the threatening notes hidden in library books and the complaints against her father. He thought of Nate and everything she had said when she was drunk. He was worried, and he was _angry_ , though he didn’t know what at. Not yet.

“Did something happen?” he asked, voice unexpectedly hard.

Celia let out a groan of apparent frustration. Her hand fell from her face and she started speaking in rapid fire. “I hate this city. It’s so _ugly_. All I could think about the moment I arrived here was when I could leave again. Preferably forever.”

“So you’ve said. I’ve taken the hint Celia.”

She let out a short, cynical laugh. “I thought there was no place on earth better than Highever. I still think that. But I don’t want to be there anymore. I don’t want to go home. It doesn’t even _feel_ like home in the same way. When I got back it seemed so hollow. Nothing looked the same. Nothing felt right. I was restless the entire time. I kept checking my phone to make sure my train ticket was properly booked because I didn’t want to risk accidentally staying longer than I had already planned.” She took a deep breath and looked at him pleadingly but Alistair was slowly translating, or trying to.

He suddenly realised he was still holding her arm and he pulled back only to be surprised by Celia catching his retreating hand with her own. Their fingers twined together instinctively, as if the gesture was familiar, like they’d done it a thousand times before.

“You wanted to come back for your research?” He wasn’t as much of an oblivious fool as people thought, or as he liked to make out. There was something else she was trying to tell him; he _knew_ there was. He just didn’t believe it. He couldn’t. Not yet.

“It scared me. How fast everything changed when I got here. Once I met you.”

“I know.”

Celia let out another groan, tipping her head back towards the ceiling as if requesting divine intervention. “I don’t know where I belong anymore. I wanted-”

He heard a door open somewhere behind them but still he urged her to finish. “Celia, what were you going to say?”

But she was completely distracted, frowning and looking past him. When she didn’t continue he was forced to turn and saw Duncan approaching, along with Riordan, a senior colleague from Warden Watch. Celia tugged her hand free of his. He released it reluctantly, even though his boss was seconds away from being able to see.

“Morning,” Duncan said. “We were hoping we’d find you both here already.”

“What’s going on?” Alistair asked as Riordan gave him a nod of greeting.

“Sorry Alistair: abrupt change of plans,” Duncan said apologetically.

“What plans?” Celia asked, as Alistair tried to catch Duncan’s eye.

“As you are aware, there have been escalating threats against the manuscript. Warden Watch have now been asked to make further interventions by our employers.”

“Tevinter Archives?” Celia asked and Alistair knew she was thinking about her parents.

Duncan didn’t miss a beat. “Yes. They have concerns about the safety of their property. To prevent them from recalling it we are reassigning your security personnel. Alistair will no longer be assisting you.”

Okay,” Celia said meekly as Alistair gawked in disbelief. He wanted to protest but he already knew he didn’t have any grounds apart from ‘wanting to be around Celia because he loved her’ which was an argument he didn’t think would go down too well with anyone in the current context were he to pose it.

“Though the book is ostensibly the target of the public ire, I understand that this might be an uncomfortably hostile situation for you as well Celia. I can assure you that while accompanied by our team members, your safety is assured. I would advise that you do not come to the library at all unless escorted by them, even if you do not wish to access the book on any given day. Tevinter can foot the bill,” he finished conspiratorially.

“Thank you.”

“And I would also recommend that you finish up your research as quickly as possible so that the damned thing can leave this city.”

“I understand,” Celia told Duncan.

“Who has been assigned?” Alistair asked quickly and Duncan and Celia both looked at him as if they had forgotten he was there.

“Riordan and I will be assisting.”

“ _Both_ of you?” Alistair spluttered.

Duncan raised an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”

“No. No problem. No problem at all.”

Duncan gave him a we-will-talk-about-this-later look. “Gather your things if you have any here and head back to the office please Alistair.” Alistair gave him a tiny salute. He glanced at Celia. She had sat down in front of her laptop and was looking at something on her phone, pretending to be indifferent to him leaving. At least, he really hoped she was pretending. Meanwhile he felt like a rug had just been ripped out from under him.

He was reassured when he received a text message from Celia just as he exited the library. _“What’s wrong with Duncan replacing you? Is he not nice? :|”_

_“No. Duncan is fantastic. A good friend. :)”_

_“Then why did you react like that?”_ Alistair debated not responding, hoping she might drop the subject. He cursed his own kneejerk reaction for alarming her. But she messaged again a few minutes later as he strode towards the underground station with: _“Alistairrrrrrrrr. I saw your face fall. What is it?”_

 _“Duncan is the best - wouldn’t put him on unless worried about something.”_ Then he quickly added: _“But nothing will happen with him around. He’s too good. :)”_

Celia’s response came quickly. _“Would rather it was you.”_ Alistair stopped walking in the middle of the busy street just to read the message over a few times as people shouldered past, tutting at him.

After typing and retyping different responses for a few minutes, he finally opted for a simple: _“Me too.”_

* * *

At the office later in the week, Alistair finally had a chance to catch up with Riordan and Duncan. He spotted them one morning as he walked past the kitchen, swinging his staff ID badge on the end of its lanyard.

“Not at the library today?” he asked them, as Duncan ate a croissant and Riordan thumped the unreliable coffee machine a few times. “You might need to resort to the pot,” he told his colleague.

“Celia has the morning off. Something to do with her cat.”

“Is it okay?” Alistair asked, immediately concerned. Mittens might be the most bad-tempered animal he had ever met but Celia was besotted with him.

“Due for a general check-up apparently.”

Alistair pulled a face. “Hope she is wearing chainmail armour. And the vet too. That thing is a wild animal, totally vicious.”

Riordan laughed. “She did look pretty nervous when she told us about it. I had wondered why.”

Alistair cleared his throat and tried to ask casually: “Are there any developments overall? On who might be targeting her?”

Duncan and Riordan exchanged a quick look that seemed to confirm some agreement to proceed. “Nothing concrete. But we have some strong suspicions. A name keeps coming up.”

“The name being?”

“Nathaniel Howe.”

“No way,” Alistair said with a laugh of disbelief.

“We’ve been able to track some IP addresses from the forums and it’s not looking good for him location wise. Some of the early comments are from his home address. Plus, he was at the event where Celia’s drink may have been spiked.”

“Early comments? So he got tired of it?”

“Or he got more careful.”

“But they used to be…” Alistair trailed off uncomfortably, unsure as to how much his colleagues knew.

“The fact that they had a personal relationship only makes him more of a suspect,” Duncan explained.

Alistair fiddled with the clip on his ID badge uneasily. “It doesn’t sound right.”

“You think he seems decent?” He knew what Duncan meant: he was wondering if Alistair’s opinion was compromised on this because he had become friends with Nate.

“Trust me,” Alistair said with a sharp, bitter laugh. “I don’t like the guy. Not at all. I’m certainly not defending him because he has a winning personality. But it just doesn’t feel right to me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“From what Celia has said he isn’t really that interested in the world of academia. If he wants to be successful it’s in his own field, and bringing her down isn’t going to help him get there.”

“He might get a kick out of it though,” Riordan interjected. “He wouldn’t be the first to revel in another person’s suffering, especially an ex.”

Alistair cringed inwardly. “Yeah, I guess so. But when he came to speak to her last time, he really seemed concerned about her safety. It didn’t seem like someone gloating over their own handiwork.” Alistair couldn’t believe the words that were coming from his own mouth. Was he really defending this guy? “He might have been putting on a good act but if he was,” Alistair shrugged, “then I fell for it.”

“Your impressions do count for something Alistair. But everything is pointing towards him. The threats reduced significantly when Celia went back to Highever with Nate, then resumed when she returned to Denerim alone.” Duncan paused to let that sink in and Alistair silently admitted it was pretty damning. “We can’t dismiss that.”

“I’m not suggesting that you do. I’m just putting my doubts on the record, I guess. And asking that we keep our minds open to other possibilities.”

“Naturally,” Duncan said. “Regardless of whether Nathaniel Howe, or another unknown agent is behind this, the perpetrator is still out there.”

“Do we tell her?” Riordan asked Duncan. “That we suspect Nathaniel? Ask her to keep her distance?”

Duncan shook his head. “They’re too close. It would be expecting too much of her to not reveal our suspicions to him and if we are right, that could prompt a dangerous reaction out of him. We are already keeping tabs on him, making sure we knew the second he comes anywhere near Denerim. Let’s leave it at that until we have more solid evidence.”

Riordan finally gave up on the coffee machine and poured himself a mug from the pot, swirling it around suspiciously before testing it as if it were a fine wine. He immediately grimaced before tipping the rest of the mug down the sink. “Anyone else want a coffee if I go to the café?”

His exit gave Alistair the chance he had been waiting for (and dreading) to speak to Duncan. “Before you go…” he said and Duncan gave him a curious look.

“Something else to do with Nathaniel Howe?”

“No. Nothing to do with any of that. Something to do with me.” Duncan turned his body towards him in a way that showed he was giving his full attention which encouraged Alistair to continue. “I know you’re short staffed here and it’s been really tough –”

Duncan interrupted him. “Doesn’t matter. We can always recruit more. I should have already started looking into it.”

Alistair rubbed his jaw. “It’s like you know what I’m about to say.” Duncan waited for him to continue, a vague smile on his face. “I was wondering if it would be possible for me to drop to part time in the future. Just hypothetically at the moment. But so I could study too.”

“Study what?”

“To teach PE.”

Duncan smiled properly, leaning against the bench and gazing off at the opposite wall as if visualising it for a moment. “I could see that.”

Buoyed by the reaction, Alistair grinned too, folding his arms. “Yeah? I just want you to know I’m not making this decision lightly. And I’m really sorry: after everything you’ve done for me it feels like I’m letting you down.”

Duncan shrugged wearily. “You never signed a blood contract.”

“But still…” Alistair said guiltily.

“I just wanted to get you out of that school Alistair. I wasn’t intending to recruit you to a lifetime of servitude. Do you remember when we first met?”

Alistair chuckled. “Yeah. I was up in the roof above the assembly hall skipping class and you came up to do something with the wiring. Don’t know which of us was more surprised.”

“I’d been thinking all that week: no way are all these kids this well behaved. All of them like robots, singing their morning and evening prayers. And when I saw you I thought: ‘Finally. Here he is: the token little shit.’” Alistair let out a bark of laughter so abrupt it made him cough and he had to go to the sink to fetch a glass of water while Duncan continued: “But you just greeted me and calmly asked if I was going to turn you in.”

“Which you didn’t.”

“Never heard a kid sound as defeated as you did. I wondered: where was your phone? Where was your laptop? Fade, even some comic books or _something_ to entertain yourself with if you were skiving. But you were just sitting there, hugging your knees and staring off into space. Then I realised: that’s not a kid who’s slacking off, that’s a kid who’s hiding.” Alistair lowered his gaze, fussed over putting his glass down. “And you asked if I needed help. You listened attentively and did everything I told you, picking it all up so quickly. It made me wonder what the school was doing to make a bright kid so miserable. I thought it was a damned shame.”

“You’re about the first person I’ve ever met to think that the school was doing something wrong, not me.” Even Alistair wasn’t convinced on this point, as much as he despised the place.

“I kept an eye on you over the next few weeks. You always said ‘hello’ to me after that. So many of the other students were so full of themselves they acted like I was there to climb up and clean the chimneys. And when I found out your name, and that you were Eamon’s ward…” Duncan let out a long sigh.

“What?”

“That told me everything I needed to know.” Perplexed, Alistair tilted his head. “Don’t worry about it Alistair.” Duncan exhaled gruffly. “The point is I thought you’d do better away from that school, so I made it happen the only way I could: by ensuring you had viable employment. It doesn’t mean I expected you to stay on as staff forever, though it will be a blow to the team when you do move on.”

“You know I’d come back and visit. All the time. So often you would beg me to leave.” Duncan raised his eyebrows. “Especially on doughnut Thursday. I’d never miss that. _Ever._ ” Duncan groaned but Alistair could see his eyes crinkling with a smile as he turned to leave. “Hey Duncan, “Alistair said to get his attention again. “Do you mind me asking: how did you persuade Eamon to let me drop out? I’d begged him and he was implacable. It can’t have been easy and…it’s always puzzled me how you pulled it off if I’m completely honest.”

Duncan stopped in the doorframe and although he could only see his profile, Alistair could read that his expression was conflicted. “I never intended to tell…” He shook his head slightly. “I visited Eamon several times while you were living with him as his ward. I knew of your existence but he never introduced us. Did you know that?”

“No,” Alistair said with clear confusion, wondering how that was relevant to his question. “But I’m not surprised. I was always told to keep out of the way when guests came.” Duncan closed his eyes in a brief flinch. “I don’t understand what this has to do with me leaving Hessarian’s?”

“After I met you at the school, I travelled back to Redcliffe and spent a couple of weeks talking to people who knew you.”

“Knew me?” Alistair said with laugh of disbelief. “I barely knew anyone in Redcliffe.”

“Locals saw you come and go. They knew of you. And there were staff who worked at Eamon’s house, or once had.”

“What did you want from them?”

“Whatever they could give me. And it didn’t take long.” Duncan turned to face Alistair properly. “I threatened to report Eamon for child neglect and had enough evidence to make him take me seriously. That’s why he agreed to let you come with me. I’m sorry Alistair.”

Alistair’s body had gone rigid and he groped behind him for the bench, desperate to hold onto something solid and ground himself. “But Duncan,” Alistair objected then realised he didn’t have anything to follow that up with. “That…doesn’t make any sense,” he finished haltingly.

Duncan walked to him and seized his shoulders firmly and reassuringly as if he was keeping him upright. “You know I’ve always said since you started at Warden Watch that I’m only a phone call away if you need me, any time of the day or night. That doesn’t change when you stop working here.” When Alistair failed to respond, Duncan clapped his shoulders once more, told him, “Good man,” and left the room.

* * *

Not sure what to make of Duncan’s startling confession, Alistair did what he was best at and opted not to think about it. At least he had discussed potentially leaving Warden Watch in the future which was a huge weight off his mind. And Duncan hadn’t been mad thank the Maker. He should have known: no one had been there for him over the years like Duncan had. He’d always been the one to take him out for a beer on his birthday even when Eamon forgot to call, who’d helped him figure out his bills and utilities when he first moved into his apartment alone, who came to watch his football finals even if he’d just worked three nightshifts in a row.

Alistair was still generally uneasy about Celia’s situation, but there wasn’t much more he could do. He remained her neighbour, but her day-to-day safety was in the much more capable hands of Duncan and Riordan now. He tried to put the conversation about Nate from his mind as he walked home.

He stepped into a doorway to get out of the flow of foot traffic, took a deep breath and messaged Celia: _“Can I ask a favour?”_

She had agreed, as he was sure she would, to help him with his application to study a BA in Phys Ed and had come over that same night, bristling with excitement.

The application drafted and spread across the coffee table, they found themselves on the floor, backs resting comfortably against the sofa, celebratory drinks in hand.

“There were more forms than I realised,” he said in a weary exhale. “Thank you for your help,” he added sincerely.

“I love paperwork,” she told him readily.

“From anyone else I would think that was sarcasm. But from you? Frighteningly genuine.”

She laughed self-consciously. “How do you feel now we’re done? Nervous? Relieved?”

“Not sure I’ll get in but I’m glad I’m trying, if only to be shot down.”

Celia nodded in understanding, a vague smile on her face as she scanned the spread of forms again. “You must have been organising all this the whole time I was away. Looking into it all and arranging everything for the application.” It wasn’t really a question but Alistair nodded anyway. “That’s amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

“I would have fallen at the first hurdle if not for you,” he said, gesturing at the papers. “Catastrophically. Flat on my face and probably somehow on fire, howling with pain and generally humiliated.”

“No. It was all you Alistair: you didn’t need me at all.”

“I did,” he disagreed, quickly and emphatically. “I really appreciate your help. And for pushing me to do this.”

“I certainly pushed,” she said lightly but she looked troubled. He hadn’t meant to make her feel guilty, and was about to say as much, when she unexpectedly changed the subject. “I’m not with Nate. We aren’t seeing each other or anything.”

“No?” he said simply, feeling a rush of relief but not sure he should show it. He had been expecting he would have to carefully worm this information out of her but there she was just declaring it, without any guile or effort on his part required.

“I never really was. I mean I _was_ , way back. But what I told you was true: it was more like everyone expected us to get together. I think I wanted to like him because I thought I was supposed to.”

“You’re close,” Alistair said carefully.

“Yes. We were. But we just didn’t work together. Not like that. And neither of us have any illusions about trying again. Or any desire to.”

“Okay,” Alistair said. It was a totally inadequate response but he genuinely couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Celia dropped her gaze ruefully. “I should have told you that sooner, been more clear about it.”

“It’s none of my business.”

“Isn’t it?” she gave him a sideways glance and Alistair felt his stomach do a funny sort of flip at the question. “I was trying to push you away. Make you think there wasn’t a chance of anything happening between us.”

He was silent for a moment, his mind whirring. “It worked,” he finally said, deciding to honour her simple honesty with his own.

She was staring straight ahead now but he could see her reflected in the dark TV screen and she met his eyes there. “You don’t have to believe me but I thought I was doing the right thing. I regretted it almost instantly. And I couldn’t follow through with it. Obviously.”

“I didn’t know how I was supposed to react. It didn’t feel like there was a single good option. I wanted to object more, but how could I?”

“It was really unfair on you. And it’s not who I am: playing games like that. I’m sorry for it. I really am,” her voice caught as she apologised.

It seemed like there was weight pressing down on his chest, making it harder to breath than usual. “I’ll admit it didn’t feel great,” That was the understatement of the age, “But you didn’t do anything wrong. You had dinner with someone you know, you didn’t steal from a donations box.”

She hugged her knees tighter. “Maybe so. But I wanted to drive you away. Permanently.” She scrunched up her face in disgust. “Then the decision would be made for me and I wouldn’t have to admit how confused I’ve been about what we are. I hate to think that I might have hurt you.”

“It isn’t entirely your fault. I haven’t exactly…When you kissed me…” She turned to look at him, frowning slightly. “You remember that, right?” he asked.

Celia let out a tired sounding laugh. “ _Of course_ I remember it Alistair.”

“I should have fought harder, argued more. I should have reassured you… There have been a hundred times I should have said something and I haven’t. I’ve wanted to. Even in the short time we’ve known each other I’ve come to care about you. Really care about you,” he soundly vaguely angry and he hoped she understood it wasn’t at her.

“I feel the same. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. I should have told you. I should have kissed you properly. I’m an idiot.”

She rested her hand lightly on his arm. “You have to stop calling yourself an idiot.”

“I just froze up.”

“Well, to be fair I did sort of spring it on you. You must have been surprised.”

He broke into a lopsided grin. “But it was a nice surprise.”

She tilted her head at him and smiled tentatively. “Yeah?”

Alistair carefully put his drink on the table. “Do you think we should have a do over? You don’t even need to put any leaves in your hair this time. That said, if you have some prepared: you’re welcome to.”

“I don’t have a single leaf on me, oddly enough,” she said, laughing lightly and twisting to face him fully.

He leaned incrementally towards her and said, “Shame,” in a low voice.

Celia groped for his hand, her fingertips running along his forearm in a ticklish way before she found it, making all the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. They moved slowly closer, each cautious until their lips met, gently and uncertainly. Then his brain immediately went haywire and he could only think in fragments. Celia’s lips were just as soft as he remembered. Her eyes closed before his did. Her hand was warm in his and she smelled amazing, sweet and familiar.

The cautious kiss was nice, but it was easier somehow when it was all unexpected and Alistair felt a rising panic. He kept wondering if he should do something with his free hand. But Celia seemed unsure too, and when they parted moments later, she barely pulled back, looking at him as if to try and gauge his reaction.

“Was that an improvement?” he asked quietly as they both smiled hesitantly.

She tried to adopt a pensive expression but broke out with a laugh and he felt her breath tickling against his lips. “I think so. Might need more testing to be sure.”

Her laugh put him instantly more at ease and Alistair felt his confidence rising. “That can be arranged,” he said, cupping her face in both hands, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. “You’re so beautiful,” he told her with every ounce of sincerity he was capable of. It felt _crucial_ that she know this.

A strange look flashed over her face and Alistair thought she was going to protest the compliment. Instead, Celia grabbed the neck of his t-shirt in two fists and brought their lips together again hard. After a brief moment of seeing stars and mild pain, his hands slipped behind her head, fingers tangling in her hair. Alistair responded with enthusiasm, though he felt clumsy and at least ten steps behind whatever she was angling for. Celia didn’t seem to mind, inching towards him on her knees. He was beginning to feel very warm, even his chest felt like it was flushing and Celia must have felt the same because she pulled back for a moment and hastily tugged her jumper over her head. Her blouse lifted with it and Alistair swallowed as he saw a flash of bare skin before it disappeared just as quickly.

When the jumper had been cast aside, Alistair seized her waist to pull her towards him, eager to draw her closer again, but was unprepared for the momentum of Celia rapidly moving to resume their embrace too. Their heads bumped together painfully and without the sofa behind Alistair providing support, they didn’t stand a chance. He fell heavily backwards with a grunt of surprise as Celia landed half on top of him looking equally as stunned.

She blinked a few times, as if wondering how they had ended up there. Rubbing his forehead, Alistair was about to say something when she started kissing him again in an entirely different way, lingering but less urgently than before. Instead of speaking he let out and involuntary groan. There was no mistaking the heat of her now through the thin fabric of their shirts and without planning it, he slipped a hand just slightly under the hem of her blouse, instinctively wanting to touch more her skin, his fingers trailing against the small of her back.

He thought she might object, and she did abandon his mouth, but instead he felt a jolt of surprise as she pushed herself up and threw a leg over his torso. His breath hitched as he registered the weight of her on top of him, his free hand instinctively reaching for her thigh. He tried again to speak but was immediately distracted as she leaned down and began to kiss along his jaw, trailing her way languidly to his ear. His grip on her thigh tightened and she let out his name as a sigh.

Emboldened, he slid his other hand higher, her blouse hitching up with it, until he was met with the obstruction of her bra. Her mouth was on his again, and when he flicked his tongue against hers, she moaned, the sound of it seeming to reverberate through his entire body. Blood was rushing in his ears and…elsewhere. His roaming hand stilled against her back and then he hastily retracted it from her blouse.

“Wait,” he told her, turning his face away then taking her shoulders to steady her. She stilled immediately and pushed herself up just enough to look at him hazily. Her mouth was slightly open and her lips were glistening in a way that made it hard to think about anything other than pulling her down to kiss her fervently again, let alone speak rationally which was his goal. When Alistair didn’t move or say anything further, Celia sat up, still straddling him, withdrawing her hands and holding them up as if to demonstrate she didn’t have a weapon.

Somehow the sudden loss of her attentions was as distracting as her mouth and hands had been and he felt cold where just moment ago she had been pressed against him. Their eyes were locked, Celia’s gaze now attentive and searching. He could see her chest rising and falling in little pants. He shot her what must have been a pained look. Her brow creased with concern and she shuffled backwards which was _incredibly_ _unhelpful_ and he let out a slightly strangled noise. Celia’s eyes widened with shocked realisation and she climbed off him ungracefully. He inhaled and exhaled carefully, intentionally, waiting for coherent thoughts to return to his brain as Celia composed herself beside him, sitting with her legs tucked underneath her, tugging her blouse down, smoothing her hair.

Finally, he sat up, and leaned his back against the sofa, letting out a long breath through pursed lips. Alistair glanced at Celia but she had given him the courtesy of pretending to find something on the other side of the room very interesting. In place of saying anything, he slapped a hand over his eyes then slowly ran it down the entire length of his face.

“That escalated quickly,” she said and he appreciated her attempt at humour, meeting it with a slightly forced acknowledging laugh. “Are you alright?” Celia asked earnestly. 

“Yes. I’m great.” He could see her glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “You really _do_ like paperwork don’t you? I can see why now: had no idea it could get so steamy.” He made a show of fanning himself.

She threw her head back to laugh and said with relief, “You _are_ okay. Good.” She touched his elbow lightly, then pulled her hand back uncertainly. “I um,” she began, tucking one side of her hair behind her ear, “Got carried away. I didn’t plan…any of that. I didn’t plan anything. When I got your message I was still just hoping you didn’t hate me. That’s as far as I got.”

There were two splotches of red high on her cheeks. She was flustered. And adorable. He tilted his head and smiled slightly, enunciating clearly, “I definitely _do not_ hate you.”

“And I’ve just wanted to do that for a long time. Oh!” she looked suddenly aghast, stuttering for a moment until she managed, “Not that specifically with the um...”

He chuckled and did a half shrug. “I know what you mean. If I had a copper for every time I’ve wanted to kiss you since we met I’d…have a lot of coppers.”

“I’d need a bigger flat,” she said, totally deadpan and Alistair snorted. “What?” she asked defensively. “You have dimples when you smile for Andraste’s sake. I’m only human.”

“ _Celia_ ,” he said with delight. “Well, well. You have my sympathies: I didn’t mean to expose you to my irresistible charms, I can’t help unleashing the dimples.”

Her shoulders dropped wearily. “I know you’re joking but you don’t know what it’s been like.”

“Trust me,” he said quickly, “I have a pretty good idea.”

She shot him an embarrassed smile and flushed even more. “We are so thickheaded: I’m furious at us both.” He could only nod in agreement. “But we’ll make up for lost time,” she assured him.

“I’d say that was a fairly comprehensive start.” They both laughed and looked away briefly. He ran a hand through his hair, though Maker knew it was mussed enough already. “I should explain.” Her brows knitted together and she looked perplexed. “I stopped you because –”

“Oh you don’t need a reason,” Celia said quickly. “Or to justify anything.”

But he surprised himself by wanting to do just that. “It’s just that I haven’t wanted to, unless I really care about someone…And I haven’t – there hasn't been anyone...” He winced inwardly and cleared his throat. Did that make any sense? Definitely not. He tried again. “I’m not very experienced,” he said, attempting to be more direct. Celia said nothing and he didn’t know if she was thinking, waiting for him to say more or recoiling in horrified silence. Whatever the case, there wasn’t much he could do except forge ahead. “I couldn’t be much _less_ experienced.” He wasn’t ashamed, but still he braced for her laughter, or some expression of derision from her.

“It’s alright,” she said, smiling reassuringly at him, though he was finding it hard to meet her eye.

He pulled at the neck of his t-shirt, feeling slightly suffocated. “I’m not totally…I have…But I just always felt I was waiting for…something worthwhile. _Someone_ worthwhile.”

“I understand,” she said, leaning against his side and putting her head on his shoulder.

In his mind this conversation had always been more humiliating but Celia seemed entirely unphased. On the one hand he was wondering if he had lost his marbles, stopping her when he had. But on the other: this, everything between them, was all new. The last time they had kissed she had marched off and they had completely fallen out for an entire month. Rushing felt risky: they were still figuring things out, one step at a time. So he was relieved, and her ready acceptance only made him feel a rush of affection.

“Obviously you’ve…” he said and she peered at him with amusement, clearly having decided not to rescue him. “Licked a lamppost in winter?”

She snorted and covered her mouth with the back of her hand to suppress her laugh. “Yeah. Sure. Not extensively. And only ever with what I would consider to be moderate success, if I’m being generous,” she said drily, then added more seriously, “We don’t have to hurry into anything. I want to get things right with you.”

“I don’t mean that I never want to. Maker, I really, _really_ want to,” he explained slightly breathlessly and she smiled, titling her head at him. “Just not right now.”

“There’s no urgency,” she said, shuffling closer, linking her arm through his and taking his hand. “Let me know when that changes.”

He chuckled, brushing his thumb back and forth over her knuckles. “Oh, I intend to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still feel really bad about how I left things last chapter. Thanks for sticking with me if you got here!!!


	17. Picnic

Anticipation for the match was building in the stadium and Alistair had just made it back to his seat while carefully carrying a drink and balancing a pie on top of his box of chips. With the home advantage, most of the people in the stands were chanting in support of Fereldan while much quieter jeers of protest were coming from the smaller Antivan sections of the crowd.

It was incredible he even noticed his phone ringing. He certainly couldn’t have heard it but he just registered it buzzing in his pocket. He put his drink on the ground and then, in a panic, handed his food to Cullen who accepted it unthinkingly then looked at him with disgust. “Just a second. Sorry,” Alistair told him as he checked his phone. He could have ignored it but Duncan wasn’t the kind of person who called for an idle chat.

Alistair answered, yelling a greeting down the line over the background noise, then quickly realised he had no hope of hearing the response. “Hang on a moment Duncan – sorry, just give me one second…” He plugged his other ear with his finger to try and hear better over the undulating roar of the crowd and stood up, picking his way out through the tightly packed row of seats. His friends stuck their legs out to intentionally obstruct him and he laughed and stumbled even as he repeatedly asked Duncan to hold on. Finally, out of the stands and into the tunnels he tried again. “Hello?”

“Alistair?”

“Yeah, I can hear you. Sorry about that. Maker give me strength. Whew,” he said, slightly puffed from sprinting up the stairs to get to the exit. “I’m at the football with the lads. Game is about to start.”

“Fereldan and Antiva?”

“Yep! What else?”

Duncan hesitated, just for a fraction of a second. If Alistair hadn’t known him so long it would have been imperceptible. “Then I won’t keep you long.”

Alistair hadn’t meant to rush him: Duncan always had time for him when he needed it. “Eh,” he said to convey the vocal equivalent of a shrug. “Nothing really interesting happens in the first few minutes. I’ve seen football matches before. What’s going on?”

“A parcel was delivered to the library this morning. It was addressed to Celia.”

Alistair’s stomach dropped. “I’m guessing from the tone of your voice it wasn’t a new bike with a ribbon on the handlebars.”

“It was a bird.”

Alistair didn’t reply for a beat as he gulped. “A not very happy bird?”

“Dismembered.”

“That is…pretty definitively not happy. Maker. Does Celia…?”

“She has been informed.”

Informed? Alistair did not like the sound of that. Not one bit. “Did she see it? Did someone just tell her straight up or…Was it on the phone? Is she by herself?”

“We phoned her as soon as it was found this morning. She wasn’t present, but she was called in to make a statement to the police.”

“On her own?”

“I understand she has since gone home. Riordan drove her.”

Alistair didn’t question why Duncan was calling to tell him this given Alistair was technically no longer involved with the library job and supposed to be on a day off from work. He was beyond thinking and was only consumed by one instinct: to get back to Celia as fast as possible. “I should check on her,” he said, more to himself than to Duncan.

“No one is asking that of you. I just wanted to get this on your radar given you have a better overview of the situation than anyone else. You can read the full report next time you’re in office and see what you make of it. It may be part of a pattern or an isolated gesture from another individual.”

But Alistair wasn’t really in the mood to analyse it. “I’m going to check on her,” he reiterated.

“It can wait until after the game. She’s safe enough at home,” Duncan said firmly.

“I’m already on my way back,” Alistair told him, and he realised as he said it that it was true. He was striding through the empty tunnels towards the exit and the train station even as he spoke, the crowd growing more distant, the single piercing shriek of a whistle cutting above the roar.

He bolted down the stairs of the underground and messaged his friends to apologise when he was already on the train.

 _“You arranged we come here,”_ Cullen was the first to reply in the group chat with implied reprimand. He was probably still angry about being handed the pie.

 _“When was the last time you missed a game? Is this a first? :O”_ Bryant asked, and the others in his team piled on the sentiment in turn.

_“Wot the fade mte? Not on.”_

_“Match of the century bro! Come back!!!”_

_“You will sooooo regret this holy shit.”_

_“Get your arse back in that seat! It was like 10 gold!”_

_“Bud ur gonna miss a cracker I can feel it.”_

_“Antiva always wins anyway,”_ Alistair retorted after letting them all vent for a while.

 _“Is your family okay?”_ Cullen asked.

 _“Work emergency.”_ Alistair typed back.

 _“Wot r we gonna pretend he doesn’t mean a Celia emergency? O yeah mte go sort her out. Sort her out her REAL good ;)”_ Carroll wrote.

“ _Inappropriate_ ,” Cullen intervened.

Undeterred, Carroll responded with some ‘tips’ so graphic that alarmed, Alistair glanced furtively around the train carriage to check no one could see his screen.

 _“Apologise or I will confiscate your phone,”_ Cullen threatened.

 _“Just havin a laff wots that supposed to meabnnsdvm,a”_ Carroll had managed to type before Alistair assumed there had been a struggle. To his relief, the conversation ceased after that.

Breathless from running at every opportunity on the way home, he knocked urgently on Celia’s door. There was no answer. He tried again, knocking louder, wondering if she had gone back to the library after all.

But surely she wouldn’t be out on her own after…No. She would be upset by this. She would be _scared_ , he realised, feeling like an oblivious fool. And here he was hammering on her door when she was probably already on high alert.

He pulled out his phone again and sent her a message, _“You home? Just me knocking.”_

He heard sounds of movement from inside but it still took her a while to open the door. When she did, she looked pale and drawn. “Sorry Alistair. I thought…I don’t know what I thought.” She adopted a horrible parody of a smile, her lips quivering. “How are you? Did you need something?”

She thought he didn’t know.

Alistair stepped in, closing the door behind him with his foot, and wrapped her up in a tight hug. Celia let out a little whimper that she was clearly trying to choke back and went limp in his arms. Alistair was aware of the seconds ticking by as neither of them moved. He kissed the top of her head where her unruly hair stood out in every direction and told her, “I heard what happened.”

Celia looked up at him pitifully. Up close he could see her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. “I can’t believe someone would…It was an innocent animal…” She stepped back and quickly covered her face with her hands, turning her whole body away from him. “Sorry,” she said again.

“Hey, you have nothing to apologise for,” he said, gently rubbing her shoulder.

“I didn’t even see it. One of the librarians reported it. Apparently it smelled,” she said, with obvious revulsion.

“This is unbelievable. The police must be able to track where it was sent from.”

“It wasn’t sent. Not through the post. It was delivered by someone personally.”

Alistair’s spine stiffened but he tried to quell his alarm so Celia wouldn’t see it. That meant the person making the threat had been right there at the library. Maybe at a time Celia was there too. What if she was ever on her own somehow? What if they followed her home? What if…? “I’m guessing they haven’t gleaned anything else from the box. A convenient fingerprint? The culprit didn’t happen to accidentally drop their passport in too by mistake?” he joked, trying to conceal his dread from her.

“They’re investigating. But I was told not to expect anything.” She pulled a ratty looking tissue out of the pocket of her jeans and blew her nose. “The police said it’s nothing to…worry about,” her voice faltered on the last words.

“I’m sure they meant to reassure you but that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to be upset.”

“Apparently statistically it’s unlikely to escalate. I felt so stupid for being so emotional about it in front of them. The way they looked at me and said: ‘It’s just a sparrow ma’am’.” She attempted a laugh but still looked devastated.

“That sparrow had friends and family. A whole bird community has been impacted by this. They shouldn’t be brushing it off.” Celia smiled weakly at him. “Seriously. I don’t blame you for being freaked out. I’m freaked out for you.”

She frowned even as she dabbed her eyes with the tissue. “Weren’t you going to the football today?”

“Game was cancelled,” he said nonchalantly, knowing she didn’t follow the league.

“Alistair. You’re a terrible liar.”

“So people keep telling me. Duncan called and I was worried about you.”

Her face fell. “I’ve ruined your day off.”

“It doesn’t matter. Not in the scheme of things.”

Celia shook her head, and made shooing motions at him. “Thank you for coming but you can go back. I’m fine now,” she told him with another ridiculous forced smile that would have been comical if she didn’t look so pathetic.

“Now who’s the terrible liar?” he said softly.

She ran her hands over her face a few times in an agitated way then spoke from behind them, “You must feel like I’ve been mucking up your whole life since I arrived.”

He caught her wrists, gently pulling her hands away, then brushed a finger under her chin to tilt her face back towards him. “I don’t think that. Not even a little bit,” he assured her but her eyes were still watery and unconvinced. He pressed his lips to the side of her face and she looked dazed, blinking at him and lightly touching the spot he had kissed her. “Besides, they film every game. I won’t miss a thing.” Aside from the atmosphere and the suspense and his _pie_ and a seat that had cost a small fortune. But not a bit of that mattered to him.

She sniffed, frowning as she considered this. “I’ve never really understood what’s going on, even watching your matches. The rules are just beyond me. Everyone seems to run around pointlessly.”

“Don’t worry: it’s not just you. Sometimes I feel like I’m running around pointlessly too.” He gestured towards her TV. “But if you want to watch I could talk you through it. You’re fairly bright: I reckon you’ll pick up the basics. Kick ball into goal and so on.”

Celia laughed weakly then let out a reluctant sigh. “That would be great. I really didn’t feel like being alone,” she admitted.

Alistair bit back his sarcastic, _‘Obviously.’_

Her sofa was comfortable, once they had cleared the boxes and Mittens. For once the cat didn’t flee in his presence, and instead curled himself possessively on Celia’s lap, looking with unmasked animosity towards Alistair as if to make sure he was keeping his distance. Celia’s hand strayed unconsciously towards him and Alistair risked the cat’s fury by holding it loosely in his.

They watched the game, and Celia seemed interested enough to ask questions that proved she was paying attention. By the end she was even getting caught up in the tension of it all. Alistair was just pleased it had distracted her, though Mittens apparently had no appetite for it and had sulked off into another room.

When the football finished and a show about gardening came on, neither of them moved or commented. They just went on watching as a friendly looking man in an enormous straw hat explained in detail how to best prune a pear tree.

A few yells came from the corridor outside and Celia sat bolt upright alarm. She swivelled towards the sound. Alistair was quickly at her side and put an arm around her shoulders. “It’s just people getting home. It’s nothing. You’re okay.” Sure enough they could hear laughter passing by and keys jangling as a noisy group made their way up the hall.

“I’m being ridiculous.” She was trying to sound casual but he could hear the shake in her voice and she fixed her eyes squarely back on the TV.

“You’re not.”

Mittens stalked back into the room, peered up at Celia as if to check on her before he hid himself under the coffee table nearby and Alistair found himself developing a new and unexpected respect for the cat just for that.

“Duncan said I have to finish up soon. In the next couple of weeks. He’s arranging secure transport to send the book back to Tevinter.”

There was a pause: a silence loaded heavily with the mutual, unspoken acknowledgment that despite what had transpired between the two of them, once the book left Denerim, Celia would too. But now was not the time to delve into that. “Have you had enough time with it? For your research?” Alistair asked instead.

Celia gave the barest of nods. “I can work with what I have now. I’ve photographed nearly the whole thing so before it goes I should have time to oh –” she cut herself off. “Duncan told me not to tell anyone about any of this.”

“I would have heard at work anyway. But yeah, definitely don’t tell anyone else.” This made sense for two reasons. Firstly, the book would be more vulnerable while being transported: best not to advertise when it would be en route. Secondly, Celia would be more vulnerable until it left: if someone was planning on punishing her for working with it, the book leaving might create a deadline for them to act. Celia was very quiet and still beside him and Alistair became suspicious. “You _haven’t_ told anyone else, have you?” he asked.

“My parents know.”

“Okay. Is that it?” From the way her shoulders had tensed, he already had his answer.

“Just…Only Nate. He called right after it all happened. It was bad timing and it was obvious I was upset so I had to tell him everything.”

Alarm bells went off in Alistair’s head. Nate had called right at the moment Celia was likely to have discovered the parcel? Could he have been seeking some kind of sick gratification from hearing her reaction? “What was he calling about?”

“What do you mean 'what was he calling about'? He was just calling,” she said, immediately defensive.

“Right. Stupid question. Sorry,” Alistair said quickly to placate her.

“Maker,” Celia pulled her feet up onto the seat and hugged her knees to her chest, resting her forehead against them to hide her face. “I left my scarf in his car, that’s all. That’s why he called. I didn’t mean to snap. I’m so sorry Alistair. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Alistair tightened his arm around her, felt her trembling slightly. “I have an inkling,” he said drily and she didn’t reply. “You’ve had a really bad day. Anyone would be a bit tetchy.”

She kept her face hidden. “But I don’t want to take it out on you. That’s the last thing I want.” He gently rubbed her back, his hand running in soothing circular motions over the soft fabric of her jumper. After a long time she mumbled, “I’m monopolising you again.”

“I happen to like being monopolised by you.”

Tilting her face ever so slightly towards him, she gave him an unreadable look. “You really should go and salvage what you can of your time off.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I mean it. You should go. I’ll be alright. I’ll just…I’ll…” she raised her head and looked around her flat hopelessly.

“Celia,” he told her firmly. “I can’t leave you like this. I won’t, so don’t even waste your energy suggesting it.” Unmistakable relief washed over her and she slumped against him in resignation. “What do you usually do when you need cheering up? How do you distract yourself? And please for the love of the Maker _don’t_ say study.” She laughed and gave him a guilty sideways glance. “Celia,” he said in disappointed voice.

“I just want to stay like this.”

“Okay. Then that’s what we’ll do,” he told her simply, shifting to angle himself so she could better rest against him as he took her up in his arms. She snuggled closer, tucking her head under his chin.

The gardening show ended and they started watching an excruciatingly slow-paced, black and white Orlesian film with subtitles and no discernible plot but Alistair was pretty sure they were both lost in their own thoughts anyway. After a solid hour of the two protagonists staring meaningfully at each other across different rooms, smoking a lot and never actually speaking to one another, there was a distinct shift in Celia’s posture as she relaxed, slumping against him. Her head drooped gradually against his chest and her breathing grew even and slow. He gave it another five minutes, just to make sure she was truly asleep, before he manoeuvred his phone from his pocket with all the care of someone diffusing a bomb.

He switched it to silent then typed a message to Duncan, _“C told N about package FYI. Think he knows book will be on the move soon.”_

His phone screen flashed with a response, _“Thanks for heads up. Not a smart move. Warned her not to discuss it.”_

Alistair could sense Duncan’s frustration and felt the need to defend Celia. _“Said he called right afterwards just when she was all :’( about it.”_

_“Suspicious timing.”_

_“Yeah.”_ His thoughts exactly.

_“Keep an eye on things around the building + check on C again when appropriate.”_

When appropriate…Alistair glanced down at Celia’s face, finally untroubled in sleep. _“Will do.”_

* * *

Warm and comfortable, Alistair woke to the sound of Celia speaking and he struggled to orient himself. Her back was against his chest and his arm was loosely draped over her waist. Judging by the boxes he could see stacked against the wall and the brightly coloured floral duvet covering them both, they must be in her bedroom, though given the identical layout, for a moment he thought they were in his.

Groggy, he struggled to focus on what she was saying. “…Especially considering I missed all of yesterday I should go in. I’ll have so much to catch up on and I think Duncan will be expecting me there so I shouldn’t disrupt their scheduling any further. It would be rude after he has been so accommodating. I really have to get up. Alistair? I need to go.”

“Or,” Alistair began in protest, his voice husky from sleep. “ _Or_ you could stay here. With me. Like this.”

It was hardly the most verbose and persuasive argument in history but Celia seemed to immediately relent. She was clearly looking for an excuse and he was more than happy to provide it. “I’m a day behind schedule?” she said but it sounded like a question not a statement. She wriggled a little and he tightened his grip around her waist to trap her in place against him. “Alistair…” she said and put a hand on his arm but didn’t make any further attempt to move away.

He kissed her shoulder and Celia sighed contentedly. “Maybe you can go in later but you don’t have to rush now. Take your time. I’ll message Duncan.” It had been an anxious, restless night and Alistair suspected she hadn’t had more than a couple of hours of sleep in total.

“I don’t know…” she broke off into a yawn.

Alistair raised his arm to free her but despite being given the opportunity to escape, she didn’t move. He rolled over and reached towards the moving box beside her bed that served as a nightstand and picked up his phone. “ _Hi Duncan_ ,” he narrated to her as he typed the message. “ _Just saw C. All ok but she will WFH till noon._ ” He gave her a moment to object and when she didn’t, he hit send before rapidly typing another message.

“What was that second one?” she asked suspiciously as her own phone buzzed and she stretched for it. “Oh. It’s from you?” Her nose scrunched in a laugh as she read aloud the message from him, “‘ _Stay in bed. I’ll make pancakes later_.’ Okay Alistair. You win.” She quickly sent him back a heart.

Grinning, he looped his arm around her waist again, pulling until she flopped onto the mattress, tossing her phone somewhere down the duvet as she did. As they lay there without any urgency to get up, he slowly felt the tension begin to leave her frame while her breathing gradually became deep and sleepy again. Alistair was at risk of drifting off too and he made no effort to fight it.

“What would I do without you?” Celia asked drowsily.

“Get more work done and probably eat healthier,” he admitted and he felt her body shake against his as she laughed.

* * *

As Celia’s work resumed over the following weeks and things got back to normal (in so far as they could) Alistair had three primary agendas.

Firstly: if possible, make Celia feel better. She was still understandably jumpy since the bird murder incident and was largely unwilling to venture anywhere beyond her flat except to the library. Part of this was because she was so busy, spending as much time working with the book as she could, but he was certain the knowledge that someone out there was willing to dismember small animals and deliver them to you didn’t help. He wouldn’t have accused her of being scared (certainly not to her face) but she seemed more tired each time he saw her and he noticed she had started having most of her groceries delivered.

Secondly: to make the most of their time together.

Thirdly: to continue to vigilantly ignore that fact that Celia was leaving soon. They didn’t talk about it when they were together and when Alistair tried to think beyond a scenario where she lived next door an unbearably loud buzzing grew in his ears so he stopped trying.

It was okay. He accepted it as fact. They would figure something out. He was determined on that point.

But that didn’t mean he wanted to spend all day dwelling on it.

Given he was back in the office filing paperwork and staring at the security monitors for most of the day, he had time to plan a way to take Celia an outing in which she felt safe and where he could hopefully make it unmissably clear how besotted he was with her (though he was pretty sure she knew).

So he strategized. And he quietly made arrangements. And he set everything up. And he made sure she was free and then spent the whole day waiting in poorly concealed anticipation so blatant that his colleagues kept asking him what he was so twitchy about.

But with his preparations largely made, an innocuous alert popped up on his phone as he was getting changed after work that ruined everything in an instant: a storm was approaching Denerim. Alistair pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead and groaned. He had seen the distant and menacing clouds when he had left work but given nothing had been forecast, he had assumed they would pass by the city completely. Apparently not.

“So what’s the plan?” Celia asked, having knocked on his door looking breathtakingly gorgeous in a pine green dress with her hair brushed smooth for once and loosely curled over her shoulders.

“I don’t know,” Alistair told her dejectedly as he let her in. “Order a pizza?”

“Oh,” He saw confusion pass over her face before she tamped it down and he didn’t blame her: he had told her to dress up. But she had clearly resolved to be tactful and said with enthusiasm, “That sounds great. Can we get half with olives? I hope they don’t send someone on a bike: it’s just started tipping with rain.”

“Ugh,” he said.

“We don’t need to have olives!” she quickly told him. When he continued to look miserable her brow creased. “What’s going on?”

“I had a thing planned but now it’s all...” he waved a hand.

She instantly brightened with intrigue. “What ‘thing’?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Celia dropped her gaze and looked at him through her lashes. “Alistair,” she said, dragging out his name like she was enjoying it and making him feel suddenly very hot.

“Yesss?” he asked, mimicking her.

“What is it?” she asked sweetly.

She knew what she was doing. _He_ knew what she was doing too. And it was nearly bloody working. “It’s not happening,” he said bluntly then added, “The rain,” by way of explanation.

Celia gave him a direct look, apparently deciding to change tact. “Tell me the thing Alistair,” she said in an unexpectedly commanding voice.

Impressed, he caved instantly. “A picnic. On the roof. I’d set it all up but it’s already started to rain and it’s only meant to be getting worse.”

Celia was silent for a long moment, looking for all the world as if she had been struck. “Really? A picnic? That’s so…you’re so…cute.”

“Cute!?” he let out a little whine. “Just stab me in the face next time why don’t you?”

“I’m sorry,” she said unapologetically. “I meant you’re absolutely debonair and handsome and look incredible in that button up shirt.”

Alistair let out a despondent sigh. “I wanted it to be all romantic and perfect.” He adjusted his tone before continuing to try and sound moderately less whiny. “You deserve something nice; you’ve had such a bad time of it recently. And you’ll be going soon. I wanted us to have something more memorable together than bad movies and pizza…but well, here we are again. Get olives on the entire thing if you want: I’ll pick them off.”

“Can you show me?”

“What?”

“The picnic.”

“But it’s pouring!”

She gave him a wide eyed, entreating look that she likely knew he would find irresistible. “Please? I really want to see it anyway.”

Reluctantly, he grabbed the relevant set of keys and they made their way up the stairs, Celia buzzing with enthusiasm while Alistair felt more miserable with every step. Emerging onto the roof after fighting to open the door against the wind, they huddled under the biggest umbrella he owned which still only did so much given the rain was seemingly coming from every direction. He could feel his shoes already getting damp and Celia had to fight to hold her skirt down as the wind whipped at her dress.

Together under an evening sky blotted with swirling storm clouds, they surveyed the sodden blanket and cushions, the fairy lights twisting erratically with every gust and the upended vase of roses that had been scattered across the ground and battered by the wind.

“See? A total mess,” he told her over the wind. It was actually sadder looking than he had even anticipated and he felt pathetic. “So much for wine, cheese and stargazing. Instead it’s gale force winds and potential pneumonia,” he said glumly as the wind nearly wrenched the umbrella from his hands.

“This is _wonderful_. I can’t believe you did this…Thank you so much,” Celia said with awe and absolutely no trace of mockery.

Baffled by her delight he pointed out the obvious, “But its ruined.”

“It doesn’t matter. This is still the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I love it.” She was utterly sincere, he realised with confusion.

Alistair didn’t know how to respond to that and Celia just went on staring unhurriedly at the scene as if she was trying to commit it to memory, even as they both became increasing drenched no matter how Alistair angled the umbrella. She gazed about at the skyline and he had to admit that even in this weather, the lights of the surrounding city were beautiful. Though he found it hard to not stare at Celia instead, her face vivid in the dark and her expression unexplainably enchanted by a scene that Alistair himself could only describe as tragic.

“I think this is my favourite place in Denerim,” she told him wistfully.

“Not the Chantry Library?”

“No. This is it,” she said confidently.

“I should have brought you up here sooner. All that time trying to convince you that Denerim isn’t the worst place in Thedas and the answer was right over my head the whole time.”

She gave him an amused sideways look. “Denerim is alright.”

“Yeah?”

“The food is okay.”

“Just okay? Clearly I haven’t been doing my job properly.”

“And some of the people are…tolerable,” she teased.

“Tolerable!? If you hear sobbing later tonight through the walls it will just be me, crying myself to sleep.”

She stared out towards the city lights once more. “I know you won’t believe me,” she continued, her expression turning serious, “but I’ve actually come to really like it here.”

“But you can’t stay,” he said with resignation, just a particularly strong wind kicked up and seemed to pluck the words right out of his mouth. He wondered if she had heard him but from the way her face fell, she clearly had.

“You make it sound impossible,” she said, raising her voice to be heard.

“Isn’t it?” The downpour had started in earnest now, rain pelting the umbrella in fat drops and hitting the ground hard at their feet. Alistair instinctively shifted to try and use his body to shelter Celia from the worst of the weather and felt the rain coming in stinging sheets against his back. It was cold. They were both absolutely sopping wet. He should really suggest they go back inside but something about the conversation taking place felt precarious and fragile and he didn’t want to risk disrupting it. “You said you hated this city and couldn’t wait to leave.”

Her shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. “I did.”

Alistair was getting frustrated by her dancing around the point but he could hardly blame her when he was doing the exact same thing. “More specifically I think you said you hated every single thing about it.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“About which parts specifically?”

“You know which part Alistair.”

“I still wish you’d say it.” She opened her mouth, then hesitated, clearly struggling to get any words out. Alistair had nothing left to lose. “I’m crazy about you,” he told her, then laughed as thunder rumbled ominously at the end of his statement. “In case the picnic and roses didn’t give it away. I hope they did give it away: that was kind of the point. Soggy as they are.”

Water was running in rivulets down her face and she pushed back her sodden fringe from her forehead only to have it flop down again a second later. “When I arrived in Denerim I felt sick. I’d never been so far away from home on my own and everything was so alien. I was on the phone to my parents every night, telling them I was going to give up, that I wanted to return the grant money and leave,” she admitted, colouring slightly. “It was pretty pathetic.”

Alistair shook his head slowly. “I knew you didn’t like the city but I didn’t realise you were so unhappy.”

“That’s because I didn’t stay unhappy, not for long,” she said emphatically, giving him a pointed look.

Alistair knew exactly what she was driving at but he still said, “Oh?” questioningly.

“Yeah. I found out my neighbour was some kind of charming, wisecracking, cat rescuing hero and suddenly it didn’t seem quite so bad.” Alistair grinned but Celia’s expression turned serious again. “When I first got here, I truly didn’t know how I could stay, even for a few months.” She paused and bit her bottom lip. “Now I’m not sure how I’ll leave. The thought of not being able to see you every day just…” she put a hand over her heart, and looked up at him in a melting way.

He took a deep breath, glanced down at his feet and noticed ragged rose petals blowing about them. “We’ll figure something out. I want to make this work with you, one way or another. As friends or…Whatever you want. I just don’t want to lose you.”

“Alistair,” she said softly. “This doesn’t have to be the end of…this.”

“Of what?” he asked, a little petulantly. She reached for him and he let himself be pulled down towards her. Her fingers were wet and icy against the nape of his neck but he didn’t mind. The umbrella tilted dangerously as she kissed him, her cold lips against his, and Alistair noted there was a stream of water running down his spine with uncaring detachment. She pulled back with a puff of hot breath in stark contrast to the weather around them. “Oh yeah. _That_ ,” he said quietly.

“What if there was another way?”

“Celia, I can’t imagine being without you. Ever. I don’t want to.”

Celia looked anxiously at him, her hands still loosely linked behind his head. “This might be…I haven’t told you yet…” she pulled her arms away and stepped back to put some distance between them, even under the tiny perimeter of the umbrella. “I’ve been talking with the History Department at Denerim University. To find out if there might be an opportunity for me to work there in the future. There is a six-month, part time contract coming up. I could take it and keep on with my research. There are a lot of resources and prominent scholars here that aren’t accessible in Highever. And the networking opportunities... so it makes sense in a lot of ways. So I could - Well, if it works out, if I get the job, there is a possibility that I could…”

“Stay in Denerim,” he finished for her, all astonishment as the umbrella blew completely inside out. Neither of them paid it any attention.

She gave a tiny nod. “For a while longer anyway.”

“You…You’re seriously thinking about doing this?” he asked urgently. It was too good to be true and any false hope might actually kill him. He needed to be sure she meant it. Even if the job didn’t work out, the fact she would have tried was enough to make his heart swell to triple its size.

“I was looking into positions while I was in Highever.” She looked sheepish. “It’s about _all_ I did while I was in Highever. Apart from missing you.” She laughed nervously. “I was still afraid you might not welcome the idea.”

He let out an elated laugh in answer, threw the ruined umbrella aside so it was caught in the wind and skidded away across the rooftop, and seized her in a hug that made her squeak in surprise. “You’re _staying_ ,” he said warmly, savouring every syllable.

“If I actually get the job,” she clarified, laughing too. He couldn’t speak, and just went on holding her, grinning. He was barely able to stop smiling as she grabbed his collar and kissed him again until another roll of menacing thunder prompted him to release her.

“We should get out of the rain,” he told her, despite the fact they couldn’t possibly get any more drenched at this point.

She took his hand and he followed her down the stairs in silence, through the corridor to their flats, stopping dead centre between their doors. There they stood in a subdued but happy silence, smiling dopily at each other, puddles forming at their feet and fingers still entwined. Alistair could see raindrops clinging to her eyelashes. He used his free hand to push back the wet hair hanging over her forehead, and saw her swallow as he let his hand linger at the side of her face, his fingers fanning out across her cheek. Her hand shifted in his, as she tightened her grasp.

Both of them were startled when a nearby door flew open. A man wearing a suit stepped out of a flat and gave both them, and the puddle they had created, an openly critical look before walking towards the lift. Alistair and Celia stepped apart.

“It’s raining,” Alistair informed the man, trying to sound casual and Celia let out what sounded like an involuntary, high-pitched giggle.

“So I see,” the man responded coldly, pressing the button to summon the lift harder than necessary before he shook out a newspaper to disappear behind.

Celia and Alistair looked back at each other. “Um,” said Alistair, noticing Celia shiver. “We should really get out of these clothes.”

“Yeah.” She looked as if she might say something else but the lift arrived and the bell sound seemed to distract her. The next thing Alistair knew she was slipping away into her flat. He stared at her door for a long while, feeling strangely tumultuous before following suit and heading into his own flat.

Inside he quickly stripped off, kicking his wet things into the corner of the bathroom, rubbing furiously at his hair with a towel. Alistair panicked as he tried to determine whether that had been a success or not.

He was totally overloaded, attempting to process what she had just told him, along with wondering if she was coming back tonight and worrying if there was anything more he should have said or done. Alistair had spent too long fighting his feelings, choking back what he wanted to say and he never wanted to leave her with any room to doubt how he felt again. It seemed suddenly so vital. He wanted to march up the hall, hammer on her door and yell _“I love you,”_ over and over like a madman through the wood until she was convinced.

In the mirror he could see his chest was flushed and he slowly let out a breath to try and calm himself. He was half dressed with a fresh shirt in his hand when he heard a knock on his door.

“Celia,” he was confused but not unhappy that she had returned so soon. But she was still wearing her soaking wet dress which clung to her, drips falling from the hem. She wrapped her arms around herself.

“Alistair,” she said, seeming equally as startled as she stared at his chest. He remembered he was still holding his shirt. Preoccupied by whether he should drop it or put it on, he didn’t think to invite her in as she went on standing awkwardly in his door frame. “My zip is stuck,” she told him, sounding embarrassed.

“What?” he asked, though he had heard her perfectly.

She turned around and he could see a zip that ran down the length of her back. “My zip,” she said again. “Can you get it?”


	18. Wintry Lamppost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can safely skip this chapter if you would prefer to avoid sexual content – the following chapters and remainder of the plot will still make sense. See you next time!

Pulse quickening, Alistair stepped towards her. He gently swept her still slightly damp hair over her shoulder so it wouldn’t get caught, fussing over a few strands that stuck to her skin. He wondered if she could feel his hands shaking as he struggled with the zip, finally making some progress on the stubborn thing. Once it was moving, he wasn’t sure how low to bring it, so he paused when he was about at her shoulder blades. There were goosebumps on her skin and he could see the gentle curve of her spine drawing his gaze down further to a hint of lace. His hand still on the zip, he imagined pulling it lower, then leaning forward to press his lips against the nape of her neck.

Instead he asked in a slight croak: “Is that okay?”

She raised her hand to check she could reach it, her fingertips brushing against his which he withdrew with guilty immediacy.

“Yes,” she told him. He stepped back and she turned to face him, whispering a, “Thank you.” Celia raked her eyes over his chest again without any particular subtlety and frowned. “How is it you look even broader without a shirt on?” she asked with something verging on irritation.

Alistair let out a huff of a laugh and felt compelled to close the distance between them. Apparently Celia was anticipating this. As soon as he moved she had her hands on his shoulders and was up on her tip toes to kiss him. Their lips brushed together only briefly and in the most tantalising way before she fell back onto her heels with a frustrated sigh.

“Why do you have to insist on always being so tall? Honestly Alistair, you’re just showing off now,” she scolded playfully.

Grinning, Alistair wrapped his arms around her waist, leaned back and heaved her up. Every trace of Celia’s teasing expression fell away with a gasp before she quickly seized on the opportunity, pressing her lips against his in an urgent crush. Her fingers ran up his neck and splayed in his hair and Alistair could feel the cold, damp fabric of her dress rubbing against his skin. The combination made him shiver and he carefully lowered her to the ground.

She beamed up at him. “Did that help at all?” he asked feigning a serious tone.

“It’s certainly _one_ solution.” He raised an eyebrow. “A very good one,” she clarified, eyes sparkling.

“You…must be freezing.” As soon as the words had left his mouth it seemed like possibly the single most unromantic thing to say in the moment. Her hands slipped from his shoulders.

“I’m fine,” she replied simply. They lapsed into an uncertain silence. Skin prickling, Alistair realised Celia was watching for a signal from him. He knew she would leave in an instant if he indicated she should, with no resentment or grudges held. But he was ridiculously happy, he was in love with her and he was finding it increasingly difficult to ignore how much he wanted to _be_ with her.

He felt a surge of adrenaline and gulped obviously enough that Celia probably noticed. “Um,” he said then faltered, kicking himself internally and hoping he hadn’t blown her mind with how utterly profound that statement was.

“Yes Alistair?” she encouraged, voice patient, a tiny smile forming on her lips.

“I want you to stay. But I don’t want to mess this up.”

She walked away and his heart sank, thinking she was leaving after all, but she only closed his front door. Though she was careful, it seemed to latch much more loudly than usual. Celia moved unhurriedly back, stopping at a greater distance away from him than he would have liked.

“We’ll figure it out. Between the two of us,” she said then added, “Probably,” with a brief laugh. “And if we don't it doesn't matter: we will another time.”

“As long as this is what…As long as you’re sure?”

“I am absolutely sure.” She stepped towards him, taking one hand and twining her fingers loosely through his. Alistair got the sense she was still waiting for something from him.

“You already know I’m not – I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing,” he said uncertainly.

“Don’t worry about it. Just talk to me: I’m right here.” She smiled, a glint in her eyes. “Your shirt is already off which is a great start. I’m really impressed by how organised you are. Very proactive.”

He laughed, still nervous but appreciating her effort to put him at ease. Before he had a chance to express any further embarrassment however, Celia closed the distance between them and pulled his face towards her. Alistair gave in immediately and willingly. She kissed him hesitantly at first, as if anticipating an objection, then more purposefully when none came. Her tongue gently encouraged his lips to part and he obliged, following her lead, deftly running his own along her lower lip, burying his hands in her increasingly tousled, rain frizzy hair. This part he knew at least, and when he tilted his head to deepen the kiss he was gratified by her moaning against his mouth, feeling her body relax against his. All the while her fingers were moving across his chest, then trailing ticklishly down the skin of his abdomen, even while his own roaming hands were obstructed by the fabric of her dress. With a start, he registered her fingers running exploratory lines along his waistband and felt an involuntary shudder course through him.

It wasn’t _fair_ : she seemed to have all the advantages. Thinking as fast as his sluggish brain would allow, Alistair groped again for the zip at the back of her dress and tugged at it. It came down with gratifying ease, surprising them both. Celia pulled back with a sharp intake of breath.

“Is that okay?” he asked quickly, his lips still tingling where hers had been moments before.

“Definitely,” she told him and with a smile as she stepped away. With a practiced shrug and wriggle she let the whole garment slide down her body and pool at her feet.

“Oh,” he said as he looked at her. He couldn’t _stop_ looking at her. The way her chest was rising and falling with every breath, the dark lace of her bra, the soft, perfect curve of her stomach and breasts.

She glanced down at herself and seemed taken aback. “Maker! I’d forgotten! Actually, it isn’t normally like this.” She snapped her bra strap. “Really. This is my one good set honestly, and I only chose it because I had that dress on so structurally I guess it made sense – what I’m trying to say is that usually it’s all a lot more practical I suppose. Boring to be frank.” She was speaking very rapidly and Alistair tilted his head in bewilderment. “What am I _doing_? It’s probably unconstructive for me to run you through the particulars of that right now but I just don’t want expectations next – Oh Fade take me! _If_ there were to be a next time, well it might all be greyer and less interesting,” she finished with a laugh, clapping a hand to her forehead. “I’m making it worse. I should stop speaking.”

Her rambling washed over Alistair without a single bit of it sticking as he remained entirely absorbed in staring at her like she might disappear if he blinked. “Maker’s breath,” he said quietly.

“Is that good or bad?” she asked, sounding uncertain for the first time.

“You’re beautiful,” he said emphatically. He wanted to touch her again, kiss the newly exposed parts of her body. But he couldn’t seem to move, entranced and paralysed.

Celia visibly relaxed and began slowly waving a hand in front of his face. “Oh no, have I broken you?” she laughed, and he shook his head in a desperate attempt to clear it, like a dog shaking off water. “Come on,” she said, taking both the initiative and his hand, tugging him towards his bedroom, then his bed.

Still finding it impossible to tear his gaze from her, Alistair’s foot caught in an abandoned hoodie on his bedroom floor. He stumbled, inadvertently yanking Celia with him. She shrieked as they crashed onto the mattress, the bedframe letting out a tremendous creak like it was about to give out.

“What in Thedas?” Celia cried in alarm, digging her nails into Alistair’s arm and making him yelp in turn. They stared at each other in a moment of wide-eyed astonishment before breaking into uncontrollable laughter that had them both gasping for breath and Celia dabbing at tears.

“It isn’t used to seeing much action,” Alistair explained apologetically when he was able to catch his breath enough to speak.

“I thought it was going to cave in!” she said, flopping onto her back with another snort of laughter.

“It might yet,” he said, seizing the opportunity to hover over her. “The night is young.” Alistair punctuated this with an exaggerated waggle of his eyebrows. Celia laughed again and threw her arms loosely around his neck.

“How are you doing?” she asked him seriously.

“Great. Also a bit terrified. But mostly great,” he told her, kissing her forehead to ward away the concerned furrow there.

She smiled warmly at him in reward for his honesty. “Me too,” she admitted. “On both fronts.”

“Really? It doesn’t get less nerve-wracking the more…” he hesitated and she studied him with interest, arching an eyebrow.

“Lampposts you’ve licked in winter?” she asked in an exaggeratedly seductive tone.

He grinned. “That’s the one.”

“Not when it feels like it matters,” she told him pulling him down to kiss the end of his nose then she hesitated against his mouth. “You look worried,” she whispered against his lips.

“Not the word I’d use,” he confessed. Heat was pooling in his stomach and he felt vaguely delirious. “Is there meant to be this much falling over?”

“I think that’s just a stylistic choice by you Alistair, but I’m totally into it if you are.”

He had to pull back from her to laugh at that. “Thank you for making it sound intentional.”

In softer voice Celia asked: “So you’re okay?” and trailed one hand gently down the side of his face before letting it rest on his shoulder.

“More than,” Alistair assured her, ducking to bring his mouth to hers just as she had the same idea and raised her head. Their lips came together, eager and hard, but he didn’t mind and from the low humming noise she made, he suspected she didn’t either.

Alistair let his hands wander as Celia did the same. He took his time exploring the rise and fall of her body, the fabric of her bra and discovering her hardening nipples as he ran his thumbs over them. His hands drifted lower over the soft, perfect skin of her stomach until they reached fabric again. Carefully he brushed his fingers over the junction between her legs, registering with surprise the heat of her. She shuddered and he pulled his hand away quickly. Propping himself up so he could see her face more clearly, he asked: “Are you-”

“That feels amazing,” she told him, cutting off his question, and just the way she said it made him pause, pulling back to gaze at her reverentially. Celia turned her face away with a blush and an embarrassed smile, draping an arm over her eyes. Without really thinking about it, he lifted it carefully off again. When she blinked at him in surprise he explained simply, “I like seeing your face.” She flushed an even deeper shade of red right down her neck and chest and couldn’t seem to answer.

Finally feeling like he had an edge, Alistair ran his palm flat down her stomach again and gaining confidence, slipped his hand right under the waistband of her underwear. She looked startled for a moment, watching his face with apparent curiosity as he brushed over curls of hair and found an unfamiliar slickness. She reached down to guide him. “Right here,” she told him, placing his fingers carefully.

Watching for her reaction, he tentatively moved the pads of his index and middle finger against the slight nub he could feel beneath them. “Like-” he began but didn’t even get to finish the question as he felt Celia’s body twitch in response, her free hand clenching around a fistful of sheet.

It seemed like answer enough, even before she let out a slightly strangled, “Yes”. He’d heard the other guys talk about this, when it was late and their conversations got bawdy and Alistair would stare deep into his pint, the back of his neck reddening. He’d heard them bragging, or more often jeering each other about finding a woman’s clit, but he had no idea…

Fuzzy headed, his heart pounding, Alistair marvelled at the reaction he was invoking: her parted lips, her little moans, and tried to ignore the response it was triggering in his own body.

“Wait!” she cried suddenly, sitting up so quickly they would have knocked heads if he hadn’t dodged out of the way just in time.

He let out a curse then asked, “What did I do?” yanking his hand back, wondering if he’d hurt her somehow. A sick feeling swirled in the pit of his stomach. She reached out quickly and squeezed his arm.

“No. I’m okay. It’s just…I had meant to make this about you and instead I’m being so selfish.”

Alistair looked at her incredulously. “What makes you think I’m not enjoying this too?”

Celia stuttered for a moment then, completely ignoring his question, told him, “You might want to do something about…” while gesturing at his pants. He gave her a brief frown to indicate he had noticed the change of subject, but did as she instructed. When he had kicked the pants off, she moved a hand towards his boxers.

He had no issue with Celia taking the lead again, but she hesitated, her hand hovering in mid-air. “We don’t have to do this tonight. It would be absolutely fine to stop now,” she told him.

He swallowed. “I’d really rather we _didn’t_ stop actually.” That was putting it lightly at this point, and he was proud at how much of his desperation he managed to conceal.

She smiled briefly, but then looked down at his boxers again with a sudden grimace. It was not encouraging and his heart thudded irregularly for a few beats.

“Celia?” he asked, her name catching in his throat.

“I didn’t think this through. Do you have a condom?” she asked, biting her lip. “I could go back to my flat but I’m, um…” she wrapped her arms self-consciously around herself, her face reddening.

“Oh,” he breathed with some relief. “Yes. _That_. No. It’s fine. Stay there I’ve…Thank the Maker,” he said, scrabbling for the box optimistically stashed in a nightstand.

“I’m not sure the Maker would approve of being thanked in this context but you would know more about that sort of thing than me,” she said with dry-wit that made him proud.

Alistair chuckled as he dug haphazardly through the drawer, struggling to see in the lowlight and casting out a phone charger, an unfinished paperback, two pens, a crumpled receipt and a half empty packet of cough lozenges. “You’re probably right but strangely enough they never got into the specifics of this particular scenario during Chantry Studies. I should have thought to ask.” As soon as he had successfully seized on a foil packet, he held it aloft victoriously.

Celia didn’t hesitate in taking it off him and tearing it open, meeting his eye, searching for any protest as she tugged off his boxers. Alistair automatically raised his hips to help her. She probably wanted to make sure the condom was on properly and he could hardly blame her. Frankly he appreciated the urgency. But she didn’t immediately put it on, instead wrapping her fingers around the base of his length. Alistair’s throat constricted. Despite the fact he was aching for her to keep touching him, he caught her wrist and guided her hand away. Celia looked up at him with confusion.

“This is going to be over very quickly if you keep doing that,” he explained.

She stared pointedly at his groin for a second, let out a belated “Ah,” of understanding then snapped her eyes towards the ceiling adding a flustered, “Sorry.”

“Maker, don’t apologise,” he told her quickly. Alistair rubbed the back of his neck as an awkward silence stretched between them, desperately trying to think of something to say and coming up blank.

Celia seemed to recover herself first, catching his eye looking abashed, before shaking her head slightly and letting out a quiet laugh that immediately dispelled some of the awkwardness. She deftly rolled on the condom, and he found even that friction nearly unbearable. Then she leaned back slightly and smiled, coaxing him towards her, saying something that was obviously an invitation, the specific words failing to actually process in Alistair’s increasingly overloaded brain.

More than persuaded, he was on top of her in an instant, pushing her backwards onto the mattress, stifling her giggle with a kiss, feeling her laughter vibrate against his lips and down his whole body.

The amount of clothing she was comparatively still wearing was beginning to feel like an injustice. He traced his fingers down the curve of her collar bone, then along the perimeter of lace, until, frustrated by the obstruction of it, he slid a hand under her back and frantically tried to undo the fastening there without any success. He broke off their kiss, fumbled for what felt like an eternity, growing increasingly agitated until Celia took pity on him and arched her back further, brushing his hand aside dismissively to reach and do it herself, managing it in a mere second.

“What kind of nightmarish contraption…” he said with aggravation.

“It’s a pain, I know,” she said sympathetically though she couldn’t fully hide her amusement. “You nearly had it.”

Alistair tutted in mock disapproval. “I did not. A blatant lie. Right to my _face_.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve had more practice.” She wriggled her arms free as he gave her space then carelessly tossed the bra to one side. He barely had time to appreciate this development before she was slipping out of her underwear too, kicking them aside somewhere down the end of the bed.

With all the subtlety and tenderness of being hit by a freight train, it occurred to Alistair that this was actually happening. He felt rush of anticipation and mounting desire that was only just edged with an echo of lingering fear.

Celia ran her fingertips down his spine, rested her hands on his back and he pushed himself up enough to look at her properly. She met his eyes then raised her head to kiss him once, twice, three times, with firm insistence. “I want you,” she told him, raising her hips towards his, and that was all the encouragement he needed. In fact, he was beginning to feel like he couldn’t take much more encouragement at all.

Celia kept her eyes locked on his and drew up her knees to better accommodate his hips between her thighs, shuffling a little on her back, repositioning herself slightly, before she reached down, guiding him into her. Alistair let out a hiss at the feeling of her around him.

“Okay?” he managed to rasp out when he had sunk in fully, his entire body trembling from the effort to stay still.

Celia let out a low hum of unmistakeable affirmation but quickly added a breathy “Uh huh,” just in case he was still in any doubt. She raised her head to kiss his jaw, her hands resting lightly on his hips. He began to move, trying to summon every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep his strokes controlled.

Celia was moving too, her hands raking lines of firm pressure up his back as she rocked against him, finding then matching his rhythm. It felt incredible, better than he ever could have imagined. Just to be inside her, to feel so close, to see her beneath him was almost too much to bear. And Celia's breathless words of encouragement came with every thrust: his name in a way she had never said it before then her insisting repeatedly he _keep going_. Alistair was hyperaware of every single inch of his body where her skin touched his. 

Eventually Celia stopped speaking, but her mouth was near his ear and he could hear her letting out little pants that seemed in sync with his own. But his heart was hammering erratically and his movements were already becoming jerky and less controlled. His legs were beginning to cramp and he let out a grunt half from the pain of it even as he tried desperately to ignore it. He felt like this shouldn’t be happening so quickly.

But it was.

Every muscle in his body felt wonderfully and agonizingly coiled. He couldn’t take much more. No, scratch that. He couldn’t take _any_ more. “Fuck,” he said, voice cracking then “Celia,” in a ragged exhale.

Celia seemed to read his meaning, her hands moving back to his irregularly snapping hips, her fingertips digging into his skin.

She nipped at his ear. “It’s okay,” she told him and he couldn’t tell if her voice was faint or if the room was fading around him. “You can let go.”

And with that he didn’t really have much say in the matter. He thrust into her one final time with a groan. There was a roaring in his ears before he felt the most incredible release, his arms going weak as he collapsed on top of her, euphoria coursing through him with an intensity it never had before. His vision was static and he was certain he was making some kind of unintelligible sound but he couldn’t actually hear himself anymore.

It seemed to take a lifetime for him to recover his senses from his almost drunken state but when he did, he became aware of Celia’s fingers combing through his hair. He heaved himself up, worried about his weight on top of her, the bedframe creaking as he flopped onto his back. Celia let out a winded sounding laugh in response to the noise at the same time he did.

“I didn’t mean to crush you,” he said in sheepish apology, turning his head to check on her. Even as he said it, Alistair still couldn’t wipe off the daft smile that he knew was plastered all over his face.

“You didn’t,” she told him moving to give him a swift, reassuring kiss before she rolled onto her stomach, propping her chin on her folded arms.

“That was incredible.” That word didn’t really feel adequate enough for how elated he felt but it was the only one that came to him, stupefied as he was, feeling altogether like he might start melting into the mattress.

“Good,” Celia whispered in a way that made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

He let out a long, steadying breath and swiped the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead. He went to the gym. He played football. Why in Thedas was he so fatigued all of a sudden? They lay in silence for a few minutes as Alistair gradually recovered himself. When he was able to, he propped himself up on his side so he could see her better.

He began picking up locks of her hair and letting them fall, marvelling at the texture between his fingers. Then he traced patterns lightly down the smooth skin of her back, following the curve of her spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in the wake of his touch.

She shivered and laughed. “That tickles,” she told him, her voice unconvincingly reproachful.

“Sorry,” he said seriously, resting his palm flat against the small of her back. She turned her head and gave him a perplexed look. “I’m not sure you…I feel like you didn’t…”

“Oh,” Celia said, comprehension dawning. “It’s alright. I enjoyed it,” she told him as her smile broadened. “Immensely.”

“All the same. Doesn’t seem fair.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she assured him.

“It does to me.”

She looked thoughtful, even confused, but didn’t protest as he took her hips and encouraged her to roll over, or when he ran his hand down her stomach again towards the curls at the apex of her thighs. Half by sheer determination, half by dumb luck, he managed to find the spot she had shown him earlier. Celia’s breath hitched as he brushed clumsily against it but he could tell she was pleased. He felt inept but resolute, experimenting with longer, slower strokes and quicker, circular motions, always returning to the same spot, sometimes on his own, sometimes with her reaching to intervene.

She was almost unbearably beautiful, and he found it impossible to not tell her as much, over and over again until he was sure she must be sick of the sound of his voice. Her skin was flushed and her lips reddened from being kissed, and Alistair was thoroughly enjoying the way she was writhing on the mattress in response to his touch. Unable to resist, he lowered himself with his free arm so he could kiss her just as he tried slipping a finger inside of her. She let out a little whimper and her eyes closed. Alistair smiled against her lips then began to leave eager, open mouth kisses on the underside of her jaw and down her neck until he reached the pulse fluttering at the hollow of her throat.

He added another finger, fumbled a minute, then managed to angle his hand so that his thumb could keep working at her clit. Moments later her hips bucked apparently involuntarily off the mattress and she let out a noise that she may have intended to be a word but only emerged as a mewling sound. One of her hands flew to grip his shoulder, her fingernails digging into the skin almost painfully though he didn’t mind a bit. The other flew down on top of his, holding him firmly in place as he felt her begin to throb and contract around his fingers in a completely different way. When she stilled and went limp with a final sigh, he gently pulled his hand free of her grip, wiping it surreptitiously on the sheet.

Celia reached for him looking dazed and glassy-eyed, wrapping her arms around his neck in a clumsy embrace, gratitude and heat radiating off her damp skin where she pressed against him. He welcomed her affection happily, encircling her waste as she sloppily kissed his face a few times then slumped half on top of him, apparently totally spent. He inhaled deeply, taking in the sweetness of her hair and something else that was just unmistakably her.

“Maker,” she finally said, her voice faint.

The urge to follow up with a witticism was apparently impossible for Alistair to resist, even in that moment. “I thought you said the Maker wouldn’t approve?”

“Damn him if he doesn’t,” Celia replied bluntly.

“Such blasphemy! If we get struck but lightning in a minute, I’m blaming you.”

“So what if we do?” she muttered which only made him laugh. After a while she said almost accusingly, “I thought you said you didn’t know what you were doing.”

“You _know_ I don’t.”

“Well,” she said with what might have still been a hint of scepticism. “You must be a very fast learner then.”

“Oh I plan to be a dedicated student, trust me,” he chuckled. “Studying enthusiastically, working hard, up all hours of the night. Whatever it takes.”

Celia tilted her face so she could look at him properly, though she was so close his eyes could barely focus. “Are you asking me to tutor you?” she asked, trying and failing to supress her smile.

“Begging you really.” She let out a laugh that was more like an exhale and he kissed her.

“Anything for you Alistair,” she said, her voice like honey, thick and sweet with affection.

“I love you,” he blurted out. He would have panicked. Alistair could already feel his heart rate rising. He hadn’t planned to say that. He didn’t know if it was the right time to admit it, even though he meant it whole heartedly. Was it too much, too soon? Or did it sound insincere given the context? But Celia’s response came so quickly he barely had time to agonize over it.

“I love you too,” she replied without hesitation. He closed his eyes in relief as Celia sighed peacefully again. Alistair felt her breath against his skin as she nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck. The storm had moved on but there was still rain pattering against his window making his room feel cosy.

Alistair didn’t know if he could ever move again. He felt like he was in a mild state of shock, but still he asked her, “Do you need anything? Some water? Are you hungry?”

“No. I’m perfect,” she said quietly, sounding genuinely content, nestling closer to him. A full minute later she pulled back slightly so she could see him and said “Actually that’s not true: I’m absolutely _starving_.”

“Maker I’m so glad you said that: I am too,” he admitted with relief and she sniggered.

“Didn’t you say something about pizza earlier?”

“Feels like a lifetime ago.”

“You did. And you said we could have olives on the entire thing. I remember it vividly.”

“A promise is a promise,” Alistair said with theatrical resignation and despair. “I swore an oath. Let there be olives.”

“Oh you poor, suffering man. I’ll let you off this time.”

They slowly came back to their senses, lethargically negotiating the intricacies of the pizza toppings as Alistair placed the order on his phone. Then, with the food on the way, they detangled themselves from each other and rose with sudden shyness that seemed ridiculous after what had just transpired between them. Alistair groped for clothes while Celia disappeared in the direction of bathroom, the sheet firmly wrapped around her. He paused to watch her go, grinning foolishly, marvelling at his own good fortune.

She later emerged into the living room wearing the shirt he hadn’t managed to get on earlier when she had knocked on his door. Alistair was draping her wet dress over his drying rack next to the radiator. Half hidden behind the doorframe, she stood with her hands clasped, studying him with a pensive, almost wary expression on her face.

“It’s still a bit damp,” he explained when she didn’t speak, plucking at the skirt of the dress. “Though that looks great on you too,” he assured her, gesturing at his shirt, "Much better than it looks on me actually." Her face broke into an enormous, sunny smile and she crossed the room at nearly a trot, slipping her arms around his waist as he enveloped her in a hug. They stood for a long time like that, swaying slightly in giddy silence and a tight embrace.

Eventually Celia spoke, her voice muffled against his chest, “Thanks for my picnic. I loved it.”

Alistair chuckled. “I thought it was ruined. I was gutted.”

“And now?”

“Not even a little bit disappointed as it happens.” Celia let out a contented hum of agreement. “Celia? Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Was your zip really stuck?” Celia let out a snort. “Well? Was it?” Alistair prompted but she only laughed more. “It _wasn’t_?” he accused, pretending to be scandalised with a horrified gasp.

“It _was_ stuck. But clearly you’re never going to believe me now!”

“Hmm,” he said with a frown and as much scepticism as he could muster. She tilted her face to grin up at him until he couldn’t resist and smiled too.

The intercom from the lobby buzzed, signalling the arrival of the food and still only half dressed, Celia scurried off to be out of view of the approaching delivery person.

After they had eaten, they returned wearily to bed almost straight away by mutual, unspoken agreement.

Celia rested her head on his shoulder and flung a casual arm over his chest, her hand splaying somewhere over his heart. Alistair groped for the duvet before pulling it over them. He felt absolutely bone tired, but fought against sleep as Celia gazed around the walls of his room, asking whispered questions about the framed poster of a film she hadn’t seen, the band from the t-shirt she was wearing and about a photo of his football team on his dresser.

He had no idea how she was still so coherent but it felt impolite to give into his own drowsiness, even though the soothing sound of her voice was lulling him closer to sleep by the minute. And eventually, despite himself, he couldn’t resist any longer, drifting off to the sound of her calmly speaking and with the comforting weight of her in his arms.


	19. Blunder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Content warning for chapter: death, suicide reference._

Many weeks later, Alistair woke reaching for Celia, searching expectantly before he was even fully conscious. All his foggy brain knew was that she was supposed to be in his arms and _unacceptably_ , she was not. He groped around with mounting agitation and no success until he was finally forced open his bleary eyes. The bed beside him was empty: her perfume lingered on the pillow but when he pressed a palm against them, the sheets were cold. 

Becoming immediately alert he sat up and listened for the shower. Nothing. He padded out to the living area. Nothing. He called her name softly, then again more loudly, his voice cracking. Still nothing. He checked for her coat near the door and it was gone.

She had never just up and left before he woke and worry settled in the pit of his stomach even as he told himself not to overreact. Alistair checked his phone but there were no messages. He unlocked it and navigated to call her but hesitated just before doing so, his thumb hovering over her name. Changing his mind, he clicked the screen off again and took a moment to reflect instead.

She had been so busy with her research lately, and with his unpredictable shift times and football training schedule ramping up before finals, they had specifically set aside today to spend together. It didn’t make sense that she had left: they’d both been looking forward to it.

Rubbing his jaw, Alistair racked his brain trying to recall the previous night and whether he had said anything to upset her, or for any moment where Celia had seemed even remotely unhappy. They’d disagreed over whether the film they had watched was any good but he didn’t think that would have caused great offense. She had seemed content, or so he had thought…Was he really so unable to read her? The thought flooded him with a lonely kind of dread.

He turned in a miserable circle, arms outstretched. “What did I do?” he asked under his breath. The empty room failed to answer, and nor did it offer any kind of consolation.

Uneasily, he decided to go through his usual morning routine, hoping she might magically appear from underneath a piece of furniture or inside a cupboard. And in a manner of speaking, she did just that. There was a note scrawled on the back of a receipt and attached to his cereal box with the sticker from an apple.

 _“Good morning! Gone to do something. If you are reading this I guess you woke up before I was able to get back. Though I’d be surprised. You’re a solid sleeper, you know that? I just about had to bench press you off me and you didn’t even stir. This cereal has a lot of sugar in it. Do you eat this often? It tastes amazing though…”_ There was a break in the text where she had drawn a bowl with a spoon poking out and encompassed it in a heart. “ _Do they dust the flakes with lyrium? It’s incredible. Anyway – running out of space to write. Love you. Back soon xo”_

Alistair blinked at the note, grinning foolishly. Of course there was a rational explanation. He needed to start having more faith.

Having poured himself a bowl of the cereal in question, he sat on one of the stools at the bench and called her. As he listened to the ring, he tried to compose himself. “Hello?” he said as soon as he heard her pick up, quickly and a little too eagerly.

“Hello again! And good morning.”

“Yeah. Hi!” It occurred to Alistair that he had absolutely no plan in mind of where to take this conversation. He had just wanted to see if she would answer but that was way too drastically uncool to vocalise. If he could just be causal around her _once_ in his life…

“Anything the matter?”

“Nope,” he said with a shrug she couldn’t even see.

“It sounds like something is?” The question was loaded with unmistakable apprehension.

“I missed you when I woke up and I just wanted to hear your voice,” he said, honestly and as far away from casual and cool as was humanly possible. He cleared his throat. “That’s all. Nothing major.”

“Don’t you hear enough of my voice? I feel like I never stop talking at you,” she laughed. “Didn’t you get my note?”

“Yes, I got the note thank you, after just a few minutes of blind panic thinking I might have dreamed up your entire existence.”

She let out a guilty sounding groan at the other end of the line. “I was sure you’d hear me when I was getting up. I dropped my keys twice and you didn’t even twitch so I figured you must really need the sleep.”

“You still should have woken me.”

“But you looked so sweet and peaceful: it felt unkind to disturb you.”

“I wouldn’t have minded if you had. Give me a proper thump next time or throw a glass of water over me. Please: I mean it.”

“I would rather have stayed, trust me. I’m at work. At the library I mean. Just quickly. I promise I won’t be long at all.”

“Why the urgency?” he asked with a tiny flicker of absurd resentment. Was he jealous? Of a fucking _library_?

“There’s a book.”

“Shock. Horror. At a library? Should you maybe report it to someone or something? Before the books breed and get out of hand?”

“Alistair,” Celia said, at once chiding and fond. She paused for a beat in which Alistair presumed he was supposed to be feeling shame but all he felt was smug. “A _specific_ book. I’m really desperate for it. It’s out of print and I’ve been on the waiting list for months at Denerim Uni but I guess a student lost it and they haven’t been able to source another copy. It’s a detailed study of…” Alistair swirled his spoon through his cereal in a figure eight pattern and tried to stifle a yawn as she rambled happily about events and historical figures he had never heard of. Usually, he would make a genuine effort to listen when she talked about her research, even when he didn’t understand, but it was _early_.

“Yes, yes. That’s all very interesting, but I don’t see how it follows that because of this, you’re not currently in my bed, looking completely, breathtakingly beautiful like you were supposed to be. Forgive my transparent priorities.”

She let out an embarrassed, “Oh,” and cleared her throat. “Well, I’ve been asking around on the student forums to see if someone local has a copy that I might borrow and someone does! Just got a reply overnight. There must only be about five copies of this book in all Fereldan. I can’t believe my luck.”

“Huh.” Alistair drummed his fingers on the counter, his forehead creasing. “So you asked them to meet you at the library?”

Celia hesitated. “They suggested here actually. In the front courtyard in half an hour or so. But it’s freezing in this wind: I’m going to head inside to wait.”

Something was bothering him but he couldn’t put his finger on it. “Is Duncan there?”

“For this? No, shouldn’t take more than a minute. Not worth troubling him.”

“Still…” Alistair said uncertainly, feeling increasingly anxious in a nebulous way. “Maybe I’ll join you? You know you’re not supposed to go to the library without security. Are you trying to get me fired?” he asked, but in a light enough tone she would know he was joking. Even so he abandoned his cereal, strode back to his bedroom and switched the phone to speaker, chucking it on the bed so he could start getting dressed in the background.

“You’re awfully suspicious. I’m not accessing _that_ book today, don’t worry. Did you think this was all part of a plot to steal it? Not quite sure how last night would have factored into that.”

“All part of your nefarious plan. Seducing me and running off with the ancient manuscript,” Alistair teased and Celia let out a snort. “Should I check I still have my access card or did you slip off with it?” he joked, even as he did automatically check for it in his wallet. It was in its usual spot and he reminded himself to hand it back to Duncan at some point. Though he didn’t really think Celia would ever take it, it still wasn’t good practice for him to have it at home while she was sleeping in his bed on the regular.

“Sure,” she replied, dragging out the word. “Sounds just like me. My actual nefarious plan was to come back before you realised I had left and wake you with the smell of bagels toasting.”

Alistair let out a groan that was somewhere between delighted and anguished. “Maker you’re ridiculously attractive. Did you know that?”

“Next time I want to get your attention I’ll be sure to clad myself with carbs. I’ll just drape them all over myself.”

“That actually sounds really hot,” he said contemplatively as he struggled with some tangled jeans.

“Andraste preserve me: I can’t tell if you’re serious.”

He decided to leave her to puzzle over that and changed the subject. “I’m nearly dressed. I’ll head your way. Then we can find food somewhere?”

“I’d love that. Alistair?”

“Yeah?”

“I know we planned to have the whole day together, I didn’t forget. I’ve been looking forward to it all week. But I’ve also been hanging out for this book for months. An entire chapter of my research depends on me fact checking something in it. If I’m wrong, I’ll need to rewrite it from scratch. And after you had football practice last night and the way you were sleeping, I thought you’d be out for _hours_. I didn’t mean to…” she trailed off.

“I was just worried I’d done something wrong,” Alistair confessed with open relief and pulled a t-shirt over his head.

“You did _everything_ right, trust me,” she told him in a low voice that raised hairs on the back of his neck.

“I’m fairly confident that isn’t true but I appreciate your dishonesty for the sake of my pride. As always,” he chuckled, looking down only to realise his shirt was inside out. He tugged it off to fix it.

Celia was quiet for a long moment and when she spoke again, her voice was soft. He grabbed his phone so he could hear her better. “I really am sorry for disappearing without warning.”

“No need for an apology. You are perfectly at liberty to come and go as you please,” Alistair told her quickly. Maker, at this rate she was going to think he was some kind of possessive, overbearing monster.

“I’ll just make sure I leave the note somewhere more conspicuous next time.”

“I’d be grateful for that. Tape it to my forehead maybe.”

“Are you okay? I feel bad for worrying you.”

“Don’t,” he said gently. She wasn’t to blame for him always jumping to the worst possible conclusions.

“Later I will make it up to- What are you doing here?” she cut herself off, asking the question in a surprised rush.

“What? I’m not? I’m at home?” Alistair responded in total confusion.

“How did you get in?” Her voice was fainter now: Celia must have lowered her phone. He heard her laugh lightly but still felt worry rising rapidly in his chest, threatening to submerge him.

Something was wrong. Who was she meant to be meeting? And why would they suggest meeting her there of all places? People weren’t even meant to know she was working out of that library…

“Hey? Tell me what’s going on? Celia?” There were still voices on the other end of the line but they were indistinct. One was Celia’s, one he didn’t recognise. A man’s? Alistair listened, desperately trying to make out the words. Suddenly, the line went dead.

She had hung up? They _never_ just hung up on each other. They took turns. They had a hang up roster. The room seemed to close in around him, the edges of his vision turning black with fear.

Then he was running.

When the lift took too long to respond, Alistair raced down the stairs, calling Celia’s phone repeatedly, hoping against his own thundering panic that she would answer and be okay. Finally reaching the ground floor, he hammered on Wynne’s door. She opened it wearing a perplexed expression and her dressing gown, a cup of tea in one hand.

“I need your car,” he told her, so quickly and frantically he wondered if she had understood.

“Alistair!” she said looking shocked at his frenzied appearance. “Is everything alright?”

“No,” he replied simply and after only a second more of hesitation, she took her car keys off the hook by the door and handed them to him. Then he was running again.

Never had Wynne’s old Volvo accelerate so fast out of the carpark and while Alistair stuck to the speed limit (the last thing he needed was to get pulled over and delayed) he drummed his fingers on the wheel at every pedestrian crossing and set of lights. After parking on the street near the library in a towaway zone, he hurtled directly towards the main entrance and then pulled up short, thinking better of it.

Alistair reasoned that he was probably overreacting. Maker, he _hoped_ he was just overreacting. But if Celia was in danger the last thing he wanted to do was spook the person with her into doing something drastic. That said, it still took all his willpower to not charge through the front door, as desperate as he was to get to her.

He had been in that library for months, casing around. He knew it better than anyone. But he fruitlessly tried every fire door and every window latch in areas he deemed safely out of the way with absolutely no success. Of course nothing opened: Duncan would never be so careless.

Painfully conscious of the time that had already passed since he last heard from Celia, he formed a new strategy. Keeping his head low as he dashed around the building, he found a bin and dragged it beneath the high window of the men’s bathroom. Grabbing an ornamental rock from a garden bed, he climbed up, braced himself, then smashed it, ducking down out of sight and listening carefully to see if there was any reaction from inside. Once he was certain no one had heard, he pushed out as much of the glass as he could from the frame, discarded the rock and tried to figure out how he was actually going to do this. Suddenly the window seemed both higher and narrower than his first assessment had indicated.

 _A lot_ narrower.

They made this look so easy in the action films.

His instinct was to go head first, but he wasn’t sure if there was anything inside that he could reach to pull himself through. Instead, after a couple of precarious tries jumping up and down on the very wobbly bin, he managed to grab the guttering on the roof. It screeched alarmingly but took his weight, and after dangling a minute, he pulled his legs up and managed to get them through the window. His torso came next, but he had to rest some of his weight against the window frame and there were definitely still shards of glass in it. After a terrifying moment when his chest got stuck and he had to exhale what felt like every skerrick of air in his lungs, he slipped through, catching his foot on the sink, falling face first onto the floor and somehow knocking over the bin at the same time. It fell heavily, metal clanging against tiles, the sound echoing off the walls. Alistair lay frozen, face down on the bathroom floor surrounded by paper towels, once again waiting nervously for any sign of a reaction from within the building.

It hadn’t been smooth, and it definitely hadn’t been pretty, but he was in, and no one seemed any the wiser.

This unconventional entrance took him past the room where the book was stored. Celia’s access card was on the floor as if someone had tried it, then cast it aside in frustration not realising two were required to open the door. Beyond this was a hall that led to the main part of the library where he and Celia had been working for months. Alistair could not hear, nor see anything in that direction, but his gut told him that’s where she was.

They were.

The door into the main room had a small window to warn users if there was someone on the other side. Alistair peered through, moving slowly and not exposing any more of himself than he had to. Celia was at the main table, her back to him, typing on her laptop. Behind her stood Mr Howe.

Alistair actually grinned with relief, pulling back from the door to run a hand down his face. He may not like Mr Howe but it was better than the one hundred awful scenarios he had been imagining after Celia’s phone had cut out. He went to open the door but hesitated, watching them for a moment. Celia raised her fingers from the keyboard, glancing up at Howe with an uncertain expression. Howe gestured at her to continue, gun in his hand.

With a _gun_ in his hand.

Alistair’s heart was in his throat, every muscle in his body quivering from the effort it took not to hurl the door open and demand an explanation. A better, smarter instinct held him back. He pulled out his phone and texted Duncan. Why hadn’t he done that earlier? Why hadn’t he trusted himself to know something was wrong? He had been panicking before, and strangely it took seeing the gun to make his mind sharp again. He turned his phone to silent so it wouldn’t betray him, checked on Howe and Celia, then began to inch the door open at a glacial pace. He knew it wouldn’t creak as long as he didn’t move too quickly.

Alistair slipped through. He could hear them speaking now. Or Howe narrating to Celia: “I regret accepting a grant that I did not earn for a project that was foolhardy and offensively ill thought out,” he said as her fingers flew across the keys in a frenzy. “The burden of my false celebrity, combined with the guilt of depriving more worthy scholars, has become too much to live with. Like my father before me, I have exploited my charisma in order to destroy the prospects of academics who are more skilled and dedicated than me in every way.”

“No one will believe I wrote this. It’s nonsense,” Celia told him, her defiant tone betrayed by a slight quaver in her voice.

“Shut up,” Howe hissed and Celia flinched. “Just write! As I see it: there is only one way to redeem myself –”

“Why are you doing this? You’re friends with my parents! You bought me books for Midwinter when I was a child. I don’t understand. Please…” Celia said. She had tried defiance, now she was changing tact and attempting to appeal to his better nature, Alistair realised. Clever. He was circling his way around them, ducking behind the shelves, trying to get as close to Howe as possible without attracting notice. Now he could see the man had some kind of petrol can at his feet too. What in the Fade was he planning?

“You know why,” Howe snapped. “Did your father put you up to it?”

“Up to _what_?”

“You must have read my grant application?”

Celia was silent for a beat. “I didn’t even know you’d applied.”

“You’re _lying_ ,” Howe spat.

“No! I never read the other submissions. I find it too intimidating.”

Howe let out a bitter laugh. “Several of the judges had told me on the side that I was the only real contender. I had it…until you showed up with your ridiculous idea about that absurd book. Only it wasn’t ridiculous…Your inelegant, half-baked, last minute submission negated my research entirely.” Howe let than hang in the air for a long moment. Celia opened and closed her mouth a couple of times but didn’t make a sound. “The judges realised it before I did, and oh, the looks of pity they cast my way. Your daydream of a theory disproved my work of _eighteen_ years.”

Celia’s voice was soft when she finally spoke, “Mr Howe… I swear I had no idea.”

Howe put the gun down on the table, carefully out of her reach, and briefly ground at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Maybe you’re telling the truth. But admit it: your father gave you the idea. He told you to pursue this. He knew my work and he wanted to kick me back down the ladder, just as he has been doing since we were in school! Only this time he set you up to do it for him!”

“That never happened,” Celia said. She had swivelled in her chair, hands clasped to plead with him. Howe turned to look down at her which gave Alistair a chance to get behind him, though he was still some distance from them. “I did a project in my first year where I saw the name of the book mentioned and that triggered my interest. Dad and I never even talked about it. He didn’t know!”

Howe let out a bitter laugh. “You’ll never convince me that you, the daughter of the man who made a career out of pointedly outshining me, has managed to destroy my legacy by pure _coincidence_.”

“You know what the research world is like. These things happen all the time and your work will still have value –”

“Don’t talk to me about what it is to be an academic! You’ve barely graduated! You don’t have a clue how it works in the real world! What it’s like to dedicate your life to trying to make a name for yourself and to end up _nowhere_! You! Riding in on your father’s coattails without a single notion of how easy you’ve had it!”

Howe was yelling in spitting earnest now but Alistair wasn’t listening, and he could tell Celia wasn’t either. Her astonished expression indicated she had seen him, creeping up behind Howe. Quickly moderating her features before she gave him away, she shook her head ever so slightly, her gaze sliding with deliberate slowness towards the gun which was still resting on the table. Alistair realised she was trying to warn him.

 _“Trust me,”_ Alistair mouthed at her. Her face twisted anxiously but she refixed her eyes on Howe.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea I’ve been causing you harm,” she told Howe who was visibly panting.

“I didn’t mean for it to come to this Celia. I did everything I could to put you off this project. Why did you have to be so stubborn? You stupid, stupid girl.”

“Mr Howe you _encouraged_ me. You came here and told me I’d do great things.”

“I brought Nathaniel to you. I thought you would follow him back.”

“I don’t –”

“I know. I overestimated your attachment to him. It was one of the kinder options. I wish you had taken it.”

“What else?” she asked, but in a way that made it sound like she didn’t want to know the answer. “You handed me a glass of wine the night of my speech.” It wasn’t a question.

Howe’s shoulders sagged in a poor impersonation of regret. “Yes.”

“It made me ill,” Celia said accusingly and Alistair silently begged her to hold her temper.

“ _You_ drove me to this. I thought I could scare you away without hurting you. All those emails and messages. I wrote the worst things I could imagine and you just kept _going_. I remembered you as a shy little girl, I thought you’d run at the first sign of trouble. But you have more of your father’s arrogance than I realised. Tell me: did you secretly enjoy all that attention?” Celia shook her head slowly and Alistair was close enough to see she was shaking. “Don’t you see?” Howe’s voice had turned gentle, almost fatherly. “ _You_ forced my hand, my dear. I warned you. And I gave you so many chances. Even today I just wanted your access card. I don’t know how you stopped it from working but you’ll pay for it now.”

“You need two. You need two swipe cards to access the book,” Celia explained, her voice flat.

Howe laughed in resignation. “I thought I’d planned for everything. No matter: I’ll get it done.”

“Why!?” Celia asked in a yell as Howe began to turn in Alistair’s direction. Alistair froze, his heart hammering as Howe shifted his attention back to Celia, her attempt to distract him successful. “Why destroy the book?”

Howe sighed impatiently. “If I could frame you for burning the book, your career would be over. Your research would cease immediately and you’d never be trusted again. Your shame would tarnish your whole family, cast doubt on your father’s own reputation. It would have been enough,” he said, sounding genuinely pained, “But you came back inside. You saw me. I told you to wait in the courtyard.”

“I was cold,” she said, sounding on the verge of tears.

“I’m sorry Cece, you’ve left me with no choice.” Alistair saw Celia flinch at the use of her family’s nickname.

“Please. I won’t tell anyone about this. I promise. I understand you’re upset, but you do have a choice Mr Howe,” she pleaded with him as Alistair crept closer with no more shelves to duck behind. A nervous sweat was prickling at his hairline. Stealth was not his strong suit and this was risky. He was undoubtedly stronger than Howe, and except for the risk that Celia might get hurt in the fray or used as collateral against him, he would have just rushed the man. He needed to get the gun out of the picture. But he was still too far away and Celia was losing Howe’s focus. Alistair had no choice but to abandon caution and keep edging forwards in the open.

“You have stolen _everything_ from me,” Howe spat as Alistair, sensing the man’s mood shifting, abandoned his slow, quiet tread and began to move faster.

“I didn’t –”

“Keep writing the email,” Howe interrupted, jabbing a finger at Celia’s laptop. He started narrating again: “I am sorry to those who care about me but know that I will find peace from my shame…” Howe began to turn again.

“Rendon!” Celia tried urgently to get his attention. But this only made him suspicious, or he had otherwise clued in to Alistair’s presence, because he spun around, groping for the gun as he did.

They locked eyes. Alistair lunged forwards as Howe seized at the weapon with a snarl. Part of him was reluctant to hurt the old man: he just wanted the bloody gun before Howe did something stupid, but it was already in his hand. Alistair grasped his wrists, trying to pin them at his sides, but Howe was wirier and faster than he looked and wrenched one arm free. He began to twist away from Alistair, trying to look behind him.

“Celia,” Alistair yelled over Howe’s shoulder though he couldn’t see her, “Get back!” Howe grunted in frustration as Alistair held him firmly so he couldn’t turn towards her. He was still fumbling with the gun in one hand and suddenly there was a deafening bang. Alistair flinched and saw shock register on the older man’s face even as they continued to grapple with each other.

“I didn’t –” Howe began, but at the sound of the gunshot, Celia let out a high screech of terror and was up out of her chair, clutching her laptop in both hands, raising it high and bringing it crashing against the back of Howe’s head. Alistair watched on impressed as the man staggered to the side in a cascade of sparking electronics and keys, slumping heavily against a shelf and dragging it down on top of himself as he collapsed. The gun disappeared somewhere underneath an avalanche of books.

Celia had frozen in place, apparently in shock, her hands outstretched and rigid as if the laptop was still in them, but Alistair seized her wrist and tugged her in his direction. Fear had made her unresponsive and he pulled her in front of him, trying to get between her and Howe who had recovered himself enough to push the shelf off and sit up. There was blood trickling from the old man’s ear and he looked deranged and furious, floundering amongst the books, digging in a frenzy, searching for the gun.

“Run,” Alistair half-told, half-begged Celia. His voice seemed to bring her to her senses slightly. There was a gunshot, then another, and they heard a sickening splintering noise as a bullet hit the wooden table. Celia let out a breathy whimper as if she was too scared to even scream. Alistair shepherded her towards cover, weaving between shelves until they reached the door to the main part of the library and more importantly: the exit.

Celia urgently rattled the handle as Alistair glanced behind them, checking for any signs of pursuit, taking deep breaths and feeling tentatively at his side as he did.

She spun to face him, her expression frantic and he quickly pulled his jacket closed. “It’s locked! He’s locked it.”

Alistair reached around her to try too, just in case fear was impairing her basic functions, but it was locked fast. “Shit. We have to go back,” he said, thinking of the window in the bathroom.

Her eyes were still darting about. “But he’s back there and – I don’t know it’s safe to – I don’t think – How can we – What if we’re –” Celia worried in a garbled rush turning this way and that entirely without purpose.

“Hey.” Alistair gripped her upper arms to keep her still. “Look at me,” he told her and she did, eyes wide, lower lip quivering. He tried to think of something deeply calming to say but all he managed was, “Just try and breathe for a second.”

It didn’t work. “He has a _gun_ Alistair,” Celia told him, as if he might not have noticed it moments before when they were being shot at. But Alistair supressed his snarky retort and tried to think. He knew this building. He knew it…He had been walking around it in circles memorising every inch and now he had to make it pay off. So how were they going to get out of this?

“Don’t worry,” he told her as calmly as he could manage. “I contacted Duncan. He’ll… do something.”

“Don’t worry?” she repeated uncomprehendingly as he brought out his phone.

Duncan had messaged twice. _“Police coming. Keep your head down.”_ It was a bit late for that. Then he had followed up just a few minutes ago with, _“Let me know you’re okay.”_ Alistair shoved his phone back in his pocket without responding: he never liked lying to Duncan.

“Why hasn’t he followed us?” Celia asked in a whisper, tugging at his sleeve.

It was a good question and all Alistair could offer in answer was, “I don’t know.”

“Do you think he’s given up? Maybe he –” Celia stopped herself abruptly and jerked her head, her nose twitching. Then she clutched at his arm desperately, a look of terrified realisation dawning on her face. “I can smell smoke.”

Alistair inhaled deeply and concentrated. She was right. They stared at each other in wide-eyed horror, Celia’s grip tightening almost painfully around his arm.

So much for burning the book: Howe was going to torch the whole place.

“Okay, _do_ worry a bit,” Alistair clarified his earlier reassurance and Celia let out a faint squeak.

“He’s going to burn the library down. With us inside! I think he’s lost his mind!”

“Really? Has he?” Alistair said incredulously. “What makes you think that?” But his humour was wasted on Celia who didn’t even seem to register the comment. He did one last scan of the area for a magical portal out of the library but nothing revealed itself.

Celia’s grip loosened, then she let go of his arm. “Maybe I can reason with him…” she said more to herself than to Alistair. “He’s not a bad…I don’t think he…There must be something in him that I can reason with…” she took a hesitant step back in the direction they had come.

Back in the direction of the _fire_ and the deranged man with a _gun_. The instantaneous, electric thrill of fear this invoked in Alistair was finally enough to prompt him into action.

With a sweep of his arm, he encouraged Celia to move back, then began to kick at the door, driving his heel as hard as he could into the weakest part below the lock. Nothing happened, but he tried again. And again. Thankfully it was not a particularly sturdy door, or perhaps adrenaline (or the Maker) was imbuing him with whatever strength it would necessitate because the wood began to splinter then, to his astonishment, the lock gave way and the door swung open. The momentum of it made Alistair stagger forwards. He landed awkwardly and let out a yelp.

“Stick me on a pedestal and call me Andraste,” he said in a strained, high-pitched voice. “I didn’t think that would work,” he clarified as Celia gaped at him, hovering at his side.

“That was _amazing_ …Are you hurt?” she asked, sounding apprehensive. The smoke was rapidly getting thicker and they both began to cough.

“Just dazed,” he lied, then faltered as he tried to take a step. He let out a low noise and clenched his teeth together so hard he thought they might crack. “It’s probably just a pulled muscle. Shouldn’t have skipped leg day,” he reassured her quickly when a worried hand flew over her mouth. “We have to go. Right now. Immediately.”

“Let me help you.” He put his arm over her shoulders, gratefully accepting the assistance as she acted like a crutch. Together they limped out of the main entrance and into the street, crossing the courtyard to put a reasonable distance between them and the building.

A couple walking a dog on the other side of the road stopped in shock at their appearance and called, “Are you okay?”

“No!” Celia shouted back at them, pent up fear making her sound livid. She eased out from under Alistair’s arm, still yelling at them, “Call the fire brigade! And an ambulance!” She turned to Alistair. “Wait here. I can’t leave him like that.”

Realising just in time what she meant, Alistair grabbed her wrist. “Don’t!” he tried to yell but it just came out as a ragged, inarticulate bark.

“I have to! He’s still…he’s Nate’s father…I have to try…” she struggled against his grip but Alistair held on firmly.

“The building is on _fire_! You can’t help him. Celia please!”

She yanked her arm once more then gave in, her posture wilting in surrender. “It’s my fault. This is all my fault.”

“No. Celia. It really isn’t. Don’t say that,” he soothed, even as he kept hold of her arm, just in case. She was still facing the library but he could see the fight had gone out of her. “Listen to me: nothing that has happened today is your fault.”

Celia spoke so quietly he had to strain to hear her, “I wish I’d stayed in bed.”

He couldn’t quite choke back a short, defeated laugh at that. “So do I.”

She began to speak again but was interrupted by an explosion and the sound of glass shattering as the windows of the library blew out. Celia recoiled away from the sound, her back hitting his chest. Alistair let out a grunt of pain she apparently didn’t hear but instinctively encircled her in his arms anyway. They both watched on in shock as thick black smoke plumed up in stark contrast to the blue sky.

She was shaking. He might have been too. Celia turned and wrapped her arms around his waist and he hugged her tightly until the trembling subsided a little. “Are you alright?” he finally asked her. “He didn’t hurt you?”

“Just a bit shaken,” she told him, though that was fairly evident. “I can’t believe you came,” she added quietly.

“Of course I did.”

She looked up at him. “How did you know something was wrong?”

It had been pretty fucking obvious from his perspective but it seemed cruel to say that right to her lovely, naïve face. He shrugged, the movement causing him to wince. Her eyebrows shot up in concern. He grinned to mask it, hoping he didn’t look as bad as he felt. “Didn’t have a clue anything was _wrong_. I’m just here for the food. And I’m starving actually: could go an omelette. What about you?”

“ _Alistair_ ,” she said, part exasperation, part relief as she pressed her forehead against his chest. She began babbling away again and Alistair let her. Now that they were safe, he was beginning to feel strange and lightheaded, as if he was drifting outside of himself and watching from a distance. “I can’t believe he would - And I would have been in there…Like Mr Howe was. Do you think he’s – No I can’t say it. And all those books. Oh Maker! _The_ book! Tevinter will never forgive me! They’ll probably take me to court!” she cried in sudden realisation.

“No they won’t.” Alistair shifted gingerly away so he could reach into his jacket. He was moving stiffly, and the slight crease between Celia’s brows indicated she had noticed. She mouthed his name without making a sound, like it was a question she was afraid to ask. Luckily, he had a distraction on hand and pulled the ancient book from his inner pocket with a flourish. “Ta da,” he attempted but it came out flat and wrong like a discordant note. “I thought I might need it as a bargaining chip but it didn’t quite pan out like that.”

Celia gasped and snatched the book off him, staring at it in absolute disbelief. “You saved it!” But she didn’t seem pleased, and Alistair watched as she went pale. “There’s a hole right through this.” In contrast to how dismayed she looked, shock had made her voice strangely clinical.

“Ha,” he said weakly. “So there is. I’m really sorry about that.” 

“You’re _sorry_?” Celia looked at him in bewilderment. “Was this in your jacket? Are you…?” She tossed the book carelessly aside and it skidded across the pavement and into the gutter. Alistair watched it go with alarm as Celia began to paw at his jacket, pushing it open, trying to look at him.

“Don’t. It’s nothing,” he protested weakly and tried to stop her. But it was too late: she withdrew her hands and the palms were bloodied.

“Were you…Did he…? Oh Maker, did you get _shot_?” She could only squeak out the last word, still staring at her bloodied hands in horror.

“Yeah.” Alistair pinched his forefinger and thumb together and squinted. “I think I did. Just a little bit,” he managed to joke. Preventing her from realising this had seemed crucial earlier but now that she knew, he just felt vaguely embarrassed about it.

A range of emotions flickered across Celia’s face until unexpectedly, she settled on fury. “You shouldn’t just be standing there like nothing happened! Get down!” she pointed to the footpath.

“I’m fine,” he said in a strained voice and Celia looked incredulous.

“ _Fine?_ Lay down for Andraste’s sake. You infuriating liar! How dare you?” She grabbed his arm and used unexpected strength to pull him to the ground with her. Or maybe he was getting weaker. That didn’t seem like a good sign. She tugged him backwards onto her lap even as she scolded him and he sagged gratefully against her. “I am so cross with you right now you have no idea. You’re not fine _at all_. You’re…Fade take me…Where is it?” Her body was blocking his view of the smoke-streaked sky as her hands worked frantically over his chest and torso. “Alistair?”

His eyes snapped open. He hadn’t realised he’d closed them. “Hm?”

“You’re not talking to me. You have to talk to me.”

“What are you doing?”

“I need to find the -” she said distractedly, just as she found the entry wound at his side. She pressed her palms over it firmly, one hand on top of the other. An excruciating, white-hot pain radiated out from the wound and through his body. He closed his eyes until the burning was replaced by a burgeoning numbness that was at once a relief and a concern. He blearily opened his eyes again and refocused on Celia who was explaining something at length, though he only caught the tail end of it. “…and then it said to put pressure on it. At least, I think. No, I’m pretty sure.”

“You know first aid?”

“I don’t, but I read something in a book…”

He scrunched up his face in playful disgust. “ _Of course_ you read a book.”

“Are you complaining?” she snapped.

“No,” he replied, swiftly and earnestly. “I trust you.”

Celia flinched. Her irritation seemed to melt away and she looked at him with unadulterated worry. “An ambulance is coming,” she assured him. Or herself: he couldn’t tell. “It’s doesn’t look that bad. Really. You’re going to be okay. Everything is going to be fine.” He appreciated how confident she sounded but he wasn’t sure he believed her.

“Will you come?”

“To the hospital? Of course I will. I’m going to stay with you no matter what. I promise.”

Alistair stared up at her, blinking slowly. There was a fog settling over his brain, making it hard to think clearly. Something was bothering him, but it took him a sluggish minute to figure out what: it was the smudge of red on her cheek. “You’re afraid of blood,” he said with concern.

“I’m more afraid you’ll –” She grimaced and cut herself off. “How do you feel? And if you say ‘fine’ I swear to the Maker…”

He took a moment to answer, struggling to find an appropriate word. “Odd.”

“Odd? Odd how?”

“Kind of strange…Cold.” He closed his eyes to think about it and was roused a second later by Celia frantically calling his name. “Huh?”

“Don’t leave me alone!” she begged.

“I’m here.”

“I think you passed out for a minute. Just keep talking.”

Alistair wanted so badly to do what Celia asked but he wasn’t sure he was going to have a say in the matter much longer. The pull of the blackness was as relentless as an ocean current, but he struggled against it, fighting the temptation to let himself be dragged deeper. “Okay…”

“I’m going to make you nachos for dinner. With so much cheese. Ridiculous amounts of cheese.”

He managed a weak smile even as she started to cry. “Great.”

“I’ll need you to open the jalapenos for me. Alistair? No don’t go to sleep: I need you to open a jar for me.”

“Sure.”

“Did Wynne tell you she moved things around in her schedule so she can definitely come to your football final next week?”

“No?”

“We’re going to sit together at the front with Leliana and cheer really loudly to embarrass you. We’ve got it all planned out. We’re discussing making signs.”

“Ha,” he said, but it was more a puff of air than a laugh.

“We never actually decided what we’re doing today. And it’s turned into a lovely morning, don’t you think?” It was. “Look at the sky. Do you want to walk to the park?” He did. “We can watch the dogs running and try to guess their owners again. Alistair, you’re not talking to me. Later we can play video games. I might even let you have a turn. Alistair? Alistair? _Please_.”

He felt her taking panicked, heaving breaths and he wanted to tell her not to be upset but the words weren’t coming out right so he just mumbled instead and hoped she got the message. Celia scrunched her eyes closed and leaned over him, her loose hair brushing against his cheek.

Apart from being shot this was pretty nice. The footpath was strangely comfortable or at least, he felt too floaty to register it properly. Wasn’t he meant to be in more pain? If only he wasn’t so woozy he might have been able to think it all though. And if only Celia’s face would stop blurring in and out of focus, he might have asked her.

She appeared to still be speaking to him but Alistair couldn’t understand a word of it. It sounded like he was on the other side of a closed door. Or underwater. He watched her lips move rapidly, her brow crease, her expression anguished. Summoning every bit of energy he had, Alistair mustered just enough strength to reach towards her face. He wanted to reassure her. He wanted to stroke away the worried knot between her eyebrows with his thumb, cup her cheek, make her smile again.

He felt his fingertips brush against her jaw then suddenly she was gone. His field of vision went entirely white, then black, and he couldn’t hear or feel anything anymore except Celia’s hot tears falling against his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry for the lack of scene changes/breaks in this chapter. If you read that in one hit please go and make yourself a cup of tea. 
> 
> Poor Alistair. Even in the AU he is still the tank/battering ram.


	20. Delicate

This isn’t right. Everything keeps coming and going and he can’t make it stop. Now something soft and sweet-smelling tickles his face. Hair, he thinks. He feels himself twitch in response. The smell is familiar…A head on his shoulder on the train, a hug in the stacks of a library, a face opposite his on the pillow … There’s a name but it escapes him…

He’s drifting again but she takes his hand and her touch is like an anchor. Her skin is much smoother and warmer than his and the pads of her fingers worry over his palm. It’s nice. He hopes she won’t stop and she doesn’t.

He hears her voice saying, “ _IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou_ ,” over and over again so the words run into each other. Even as he feels himself sinking backwards, further and further away from her, the words seem to follow him down to wherever he is going… He doesn’t want to leave but he can’t stop himself from…

* * *

Strange noises overwhelm him in a nauseating wave and there’s bright light behind his eyelids. He feels a surreal certainty that a considerable amount of time has passed. He also feels sick. His throat is raw and his body aches and he has the worst headache of his life. He wishes he could open his eyes but he can’t seem to manage it (though frustratingly he’s sure it’s possible).

So he can’t see her but he knows with complete certainty that she’s there. Because they watched a film after he made dinner. He remembers…

He remembers because she hugged him, pressing herself against his back while he stood in the kitchen and distracted, he’d nearly let a pan burn.

He remembers because they didn’t bother with bowls for the ice-cream and just went at the pint with a spoon, passing the tub between them.

He remembers because he complained about the film not making sense and she groaned and told him it was obviously an _allegory_ and he said it didn’t make it any less ridiculous and she had laughed despite herself.

He remembers because she lay down and rested her legs on his lap for the last half.

He remembers because she got up at the end of the movie and, hand outstretched, asked if he was coming to bed. As if she lived there. As if he would ever say no.

He remembers because they fell asleep wrapped up in each other.

 _“Are you awake?”_ he tries and fails to ask her. _“I had the weirdest dream,”_ he wants to say but the words don’t come out. _“I woke up and couldn’t find you and there was a fire. It sounds stupid I know, but it felt really scary.”_ He wants her to whisper that she’s right there, that it was just a nightmare, to kiss his face, to comb her fingers through his hair until he falls back asleep like he knows she would. But he still can’t speak. _“Celia?”_ He can’t do anything. He’s too tired. He’ll tell her later, when it’s morning.

* * *

He’s awake. Or is he? He must be dreaming because Teagan is there. His face is turned away but even in profile his expression looks serious. Alistair wonders what the matter is. Eamon is there too, standing beside the bed. His bed? No, not his…Everything is too bright and white to be any part of his flat. Must be a dream then. But even if it is a dream, he wants to tell Eamon he should sit down. He isn’t well enough to be standing there.

Alistair wants to ask Eamon if he is feeling better. He wants to ask where they are and why everything hurts _so much_. And he wants to ask where Celia is. He has a terrible feeling she might be in some kind of trouble but he can’t fix on the details…

Eamon starts to fade away, or Alistair does, one of the two.

* * *

Alistair was back, awake, conscious, _whatever_ , and this time with a renewed sense of determination. His eyes opened gradually and it took him a while to adjust to the painful brightness. When he could focus, his gaze immediately fell to Celia at his side, as if he knew precisely where she would be.

She was half in a chair, half on the bed, slumped over and resting her chin on the mattress near his legs. Her eyes were open but she was vacantly staring into space, her hand curled into a fist beside her cheek, and she looked so pale and so tired and so _sad_ and he absolutely hated it.

Alistair tried to reach out to her but his limbs felt full of cement, his fingers only managing a few twitches which failed to attract her notice.

“Uh –” he tried and Celia was bolt upright in an instant, staring at him as shock, elation and terror paraded in succession across her face.

“Oh Maker. Oh Andraste. Oh _someone_! Anyone! Help!” She seemed to come to her senses, leaping up and slamming her palm against a button somewhere over his head. Then she was at his side, leaning over him, lightly touching random spots on his face and body with her fingertips as if she wanted to check he was still there but was afraid she might damage him. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry for everything. It’s all my fault. I was so stupid. I put you in danger. I nearly…I thought I’d lost you. Alistair? Alistair!? Are you okay? Are you in pain? Can you hear me? Can you talk? They said it might be difficult for you to talk. Maybe you shouldn’t try to talk. And that you might have some memory loss. Alistair, do you know where you are? Do you remember what happened? Do you know who I am? Please know who I am!” she burbled, eyes brimming with tears, pulling her hands back and clenching them together in front of her chest as if in prayer.

“Yuh-” he managed, voice cracking. He swallowed frantically but his throat was painfully dry.

“Was that a ‘nah’? Maker help me: which question were you answering? They said you would need calm and quiet and I’m not being calm or quiet, am I? Do you remember being unconscious? Do you know what date it is? Do you remember anyone visiting you? Do you remember being shot? Oh Fade! They said not to talk about that because it might be traumatic for you. In case? What am I saying? Of _course_ it’s traumatic: you were _shot_! Don’t think about being shot Alistair!” she half yelled in what was obviously mounting panic.

“Yuh-” he tried again, blinking and focusing determinedly on her as a team of medical staff rushed into the room. Someone behind Celia took her by the shoulders and was trying to guide her back from his bed. In a surge of strength that felt monumental he raised his arm a couple of inches off the mattress and tried to seize her wrist before she could be taken any further away. He made fleeting contact and while he failed to actually grasp her, he succeeded in getting her attention.

Celia shook off the staff member and leaned over him, bringing her face close to his, her fingers tenderly brushing back his hair then cradling his face. She looked at him searchingly. “What is it? What are you trying to say?”

“Yuh – you’re…” His voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper. Alistair inhaled deeply before continuing. “You’re really pretty,” he finally managed, then smiled at her bewildered expression as a few of the medical staff tittered in the background. Celia kissed the corner of his mouth, butterfly light and far too briefly, before stepping away to let the doctor past, not breaking eye contact with him.

“I think he’s alright,” she announced to the room from the foot of Alistair's bed, meeting his grin with a tired, acknowledging smile before she hid her face in her hands, pressed her back against the wall and slid to the floor where frustratingly, he couldn’t see her anymore.

* * *

“Alistair, I’m not sure you’re drinking enough water,” Celia said in what Alistair had come to fondly recognise as her bossy-worried voice.

“Don’t criticise me: I’m very poorly you know,” he whined, doing an impression of feebleness.

Celia gave him an unapologetic frown and titled her head in a way that immediately made him want to laugh. “I’m just trying to keep you alive,” she said with no real sternness.

“You already did,” he pointed out. The doctor had told him that if Celia hadn’t kept pressure on the wound, he probably wouldn’t have made it. A few months ago she couldn’t handle his bloody nose, but when it mattered, she hadn’t fainted: she’d stayed with him, right until the paramedics had arrived. Apparently his life being at stake had cured her lifelong fear of blood, though she still looked pointedly away when the staff came to give him needles of any kind.

“Stay hydrated then: don’t shrivel up and waste my efforts.” She nudged the glass closer to him on the tray table of his hospital bed.

“Can I have a slice of lemon? A tiny umbrella?” he wheedled.

“I’ll arrange it if it helps,” she said patiently. “What colour?”

“Oh you know me: something vibrant,” he chuckled and picked up the glass, concentrating on not letting it shake too much. Truthfully, he had only recently graduated from bendy straws and was at risk of sloshing a fair bit of water onto the bed if he didn’t focus enough when drinking.

Celia looked satisfied as he drank. “Well done,” she told him completely unironically before settling back into the chair beside his bed. She had been reluctant to leave Alistair’s side throughout the duration of his hospital stay and he certainly didn’t object to having her there. He was still in a fair bit of pain, and although he was well taken care of, the hospital was a lonely, scary kind of place. The staff were nice but something about the white walls and the constant beeping and the smell of disinfectant made him nervous. He’d been shot, you would think that would put things in perspective, but somehow the cold, sterile room and a nurse scratching something on his clipboard still made him really uneasy.

But he didn’t have to say any of this, or admit to his anxiety: Celia was just _there_. She was there so much he felt guilty but she wouldn’t hear a word of it. She would even bring her laptop in and work using his tray table just so she could keep him company, propping a row of open books against him as he napped. She was such a fixture that the nurses were beginning to feel bad about kicking her out when visiting hours ended. Indeed, several of the more tender-hearted ones had begun to let her stay overtime.

“No hurry dear. Stick around! I’m sure it does him good. Rules be damned!” one nurse with a tight perm and coral lipstick was telling Celia as Alistair adopted his most puppy dog expression. As the permission was given for Celia to stay on a little longer, he grinned at the nurse. “See? He looks better already!” she said, clearly delighted.

Celia smiled too. “Thanks Doreen. You’re the loveliest.” After the woman left, Celia rounded on Alistair. “That was _all_ you. You’re such a disgusting flirt! I saw you, all but batting your eyelashes. Poor woman didn’t stand a chance.”

“What can I say? I can’t help but be this charming.”

“They absolutely love you. You’re like a little pet.”

“It’s feeling less like a compliment now…”

Celia laughed. “They’ll probably start poisoning you to keep you here.”

Alistair made a gesture of rattling his own head with his hands. “I’ll lose my mind if I stay much longer. I can’t wait to be out. I miss my flat, and going for runs, getting real coffees…even work. All the stupid little things: birds, wind, rain…even wasps and sunburn.” Celia looked on sympathetically as he spoke. “And you. I miss you,” he told her.

She scrunched up her nose but looked pleased. “I’m here every day. Had you not noticed?”

“It’s just not the same as being with you properly.”

Celia stood up and moved to sit on the edge of his bed, an alarming smirk forming on her face. “Being with me _properly_? Really? Is _that_ all you can think about?” she asked, leaning forward to lightly run her index finger from his hairline, down the length of his nose, finally tapping his lips once.

“I didn’t mean -!” His vital signs monitor beeped to indicate a sudden spike and they both glanced at it. “You’re very wicked, did you know that?” he told her in a low voice.

“Yes,” she said with a laugh then leaned in to swiftly kiss him. “And I know what you mean. It isn’t the same. As soon as I walk out the door I have to battle to not turn on my heel and march back in.”

“Not sure we should test Doreen’s generosity. They’re already being lenient.”

“Yes, and I think the only reason I was allowed to see you in the ICU was because of your brother.”

Alistair gave her a startled look. “Huh? Was Cailan here?”

“Oh no,” she said, looking stricken when his face obviously fell a little. “No: your Uncle name-dropped him and apparently Theirin Industries funded a new ward at the hospital some time ago. That’s what I was referring to. Sorry Alistair.”

He felt deflated though he wasn’t sure why: he didn’t particularly _want_ Cailan to come and visit. Why would he? He barely knew the man and what he did know of him he didn’t particularly like. “Don’t apologise: you didn’t do anything.”

“Still…” she said. “Anyway, they would have noticed your name on the paperwork but Eamon made sure there could be no doubt of the connection.”

“I wish he hadn’t,” Alistair grumbled. “I don’t want special treatment because of him.” Alistair wasn’t sure if he meant his father, his brother, his uncle or all three so he left it to Celia’s interpretation.

“Special treatment saved me from having to beat down the doors to get to see you when you were still unconscious after surgery.”

He softened. “Apart from that. Obviously.”

“Your Uncles had never met me of course, but they kept seeing me in the waiting room and Teagan said that I –” she stopped herself, a hand flying over her mouth.

“What did he say?” Alistair prompted Celia as her cheeks flushed, his curiosity piqued by her sudden embarrassment.

She cleared her throat awkwardly and shook her head. “Apparently I was always crying so much that they…he said they assumed I was ‘ _someone of relevance_ ’ to you,” she told him, doing air quotes.

“Ha,” Alistair let out a huff of amusement and pretended to introduce an imaginary person in the room to her, “This is Celia, she’s my ‘someone of relevance.’”

“Romantic, isn’t it?”

“So you were crying a lot then?”

“Yes,” Celia answered tersely.

Alistair let out a hiss of sympathy but couldn’t help grinning. “Is it possible to feel entirely awful, yet also just a little bit pleased? Does that make me evil?”

“You were oblivious while I was having a horrible time. It was really selfish of you,” she said, her voice teasing. “You really don’t remember anything? From being unconscious? You didn’t hear anything I said to you?”

“No? Why? Did you profess your undying love for me?” he raised an eyebrow and gave her what he hoped was a seductive look…under the circumstances.

“Guess you’ll never know…” she said with her best attempt at a roguish wink and he laughed. “Mostly I just blew my nose and sobbed a lot.”

“I hope they were polite?” It was a stupid way to phrase what he was trying to ask: Eamon and Teagan were always polite, especially with strangers. Though Eamon could be curt with people he thought were a waste of his time and maybe that’s what Alistair was afraid of.

“Yes. I think so. Eamon seemed to have heard of Dad’s work and asked some questions but I can’t really remember. If anyone was rude it was probably me. I was a bit…” she pulled a face, “Distracted.”

“By me?” he said with false incredulity while pointing to himself. “Can’t imagine why.”

“Alistair,” she said wearily. “I haven’t been that upset since I only got Second Class Honours on an assignment in my third year of university.” She realised what she had said looked appalled even before he let out a bark of laughter so abrupt it caused him pain and his hand flew to his side. “That sounded wrong. Oh no, I didn’t mean to equate you nearly dying with a bad score on an essay! Maker take me!”

“Your life has just been one trauma after another hasn’t it?” he said, still chuckling.

“Okay. Alright. I’ve been a little sheltered,” she admitted reluctantly.

“No. Seriously. You getting anything other than top marks must have been devastating. I’m shocked you came back from that.”

Her mouth twisted as she tried to supress a smile. “I contested the mark. I was only 2% off and the professor misattributed a reference in their corrections.”

“Still, only just scraping through? That must sting,” he said, trying to provoke her with a disappointed shake of his head. “A low First Class for you? Must be like a fail for a regular person. I can’t believe you haven’t disclosed this before now…” he let out a sigh.

To his delight, Celia bristled, straightening her back and raising her chin as if she were about to make a statement in court. “I’d taken on extra classes on top of the normal course load _and_ was doing an internship with the Preservation Society at the time _and_ was secretary of our book club _and_ I was on the Debate Team – Oh,” she said with belated realisation as he grinned at her. “You’re making fun of me. I hope you’re pleased with yourself.”

He was. Very. But he said, “It would be more satisfying if you weren’t so clearly exhausted. It’s just too easy.”

She shot him a feeble smile and rubbed his arm reassuringly before fussing with the sheet a bit. “I’m alright. Just anxious to see you well again.”

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Alistair said sincerely.

Celia looked at him in disbelief. “ _I’m_ sorry I got you shot.”

Alistair debated whether it was worth telling her it wasn’t her fault and getting into _that_ argument again for the millionth time given she had to leave soon. “There. We’re even then,” he said instead. Her forehead creased and she looked up at the ceiling with a drawn-out sigh.

“I don’t want to go. I wish I could sleep here.”

Alistair wished she could too. Celia was warm and soft and smelled of home, all in direct contrast to everything about the hospital. He would have given just about anything to have her in his arms in those moments where he startled awake in the middle of the night, lonely and in pain. But instead he pointed out gently, “You need to get your rest. Proper rest. You couldn’t do that here.”

“Can you?”

“It’s not all that cosy to be honest,” he told her, patting the mattress, “but I do have the advantage of being on a lot of drugs. So, so many drugs.”

Celia leaned forward with an intent look and rested her palm flat against his chest. He reached up to place his hand over hers. “Whatever it takes to get you better,” she said softly. They were quiet for a while. Celia eventually moved to find the jug and top up his water glass, then straightened the blanket at the end of his bed before she returned to the chair and began doing something on her phone. Alistair, just glad for her company, was staring at the TV on the wall without really taking in anything on the screen. He mindlessly pulled apart a muffin from a batch that Wynne had delivered on her last visit (she was insisting he was too thin) creating a mess of crumbs on the tray table before abandoning it.

Finally, he mustered up the courage and asked something he had been meaning to for days. “Have you spoken to Nate? Is he…?” Alistair began before his confidence faltered.

Celia smiled reassuringly at him then her expression became downcast. “It’s okay: you can ask. No, I haven’t. He doesn’t want anything to do with me. Fergus has seen him. Says he is presenting stoically apparently. I’m not surprised.”

“Might be his way of coping.”

“I think so. I wish he would let me explain…Or even just…But I know he doesn’t want to hear from me, I can understand that.”

“He can’t blame you?”

“His father is dead: he can do whatever he likes.”

“But it’s not fair on you. You didn’t do anything wrong. _You’re_ the victim in this.”

“Fair doesn’t come into it,” Celia shook out her hair in an agitated way, combing her fingers through it before wincing as they got caught in a snag. “The investigation isn’t even over but Nate knows, everyone knows, that Mr Howe was almost singlehandedly behind the hate campaign. There were genuine protesters about the book of course. But Howe stoked the fire relentlessly. The really horrible threats against my family too…they’ve traced them all back to him. He had multiple accounts and…Maker, it must have been consuming him in the end. A full time job. He sent the letter full of lies about me to the University. He brought Nate here to try and upset me, knowing we parted on bad terms. He planted those vandalised pictures of my academic profile in the library books. He put something in my wine and he even…the bird,” she flinched to recount it.

“I’m so sorry Celia. Your dad must be taking it hard too.”

“They were old friends…” Celia looked thoughtful for a moment, before her shoulders rose and fell with a heavy sigh. “He didn’t set out to…to try to hurt me. Or you! Physically. Or he wouldn’t have created such a trail of evidence: he was smarter than that. He must have just wanted me to give up, as punishment for winning the grant over him. As punishment for everything my father ever accomplished and he didn’t. When I didn’t quit, that’s when things escalated and got out of hand.”

“You’re making excuses for him?” Alistair asked, managing to conceal _most_ of the disbelief he felt.

“I just want to understand,” Celia replied quickly. “He wasn’t a bad…I don’t know who he was,” she finished uncertainly.

“Celia. You can forgive Nate for blaming you. You can even try to forgive Mr Howe, though I never will. Not about this,” he gestured towards his bandages. “I mean for threatening you, putting you through all that worry for months then placing you in danger. I can’t let that go. Ever. But what he did, and Nate’s grief, they aren’t your responsibility. It isn’t your fault.” He held out his hand to her and she took it between both of hers.

Celia looked worriedly at him. “I don’t want you to think I’m being flippant about what happened: he hurt you. He could have killed you. I’m…more than aware of that.”

“You knew him all your life. It’s no wonder you’re conflicted.”

Her hands tightened around his. “It all makes me feel sick. I’m trying to work. I’m really trying to finish this pointless research…”

“It isn’t pointless,” Alistair protested quickly. “Don’t say that. You’ve worked so hard.”

She pulled her hands away to rub her eyes. “It feels pointless. It feels like it doesn’t matter anymore. How could it?”

“It matters Celia. You know it does.”

“Not to me. Not right now. I’m not sure it ever will again,” she said flatly.

“You don’t need to rush it. But you’ll get there, when you’re ready. I know how much you care about this.”

“And when will I be ready? It’s all meaningless. I can’t string any thoughts together, or write anything without my mind snapping back to everything that happened. I don’t know how to think about this project without remembering... and I’ve mostly been stuck fending off calls and emails from Tevinter,” she pulled a face at that last bit, as if she regretted saying it aloud.

“What did they say about the book’s uh…makeover? Are they giving you a hard time?” Alistair asked seriously.

“It’s all digitised so none of the content is lost. It doesn’t matter.”

“That’s good but also not what I asked. What did they say?”

Celia’s face fell and she let out a shaky breath. “They were really angry. It was awful, but it was mostly just grandstanding: they have to put on a show about how unreliable Fereldan is and so on. They were sitting on that book for hundreds of years letting it moulder away: I’m sure they couldn’t care less really. And the value of it will probably only increase with this controversy, plus my research.”

“So they just need to look mad so they don’t set a precedent in which people start shooting their books on purpose?”

Celia smiled weakly. “Yeah, something like that. What about you? Warden Watch must have a fairly horrifying amount of paperwork to plough through when someone nearly dies on the job.”

“Duncan’s taking care of it all I guess. He hasn’t contacted me about it and I haven’t asked.” Alistair lowered his gaze, feeling immediately a little despondent. Duncan hadn’t been in touch at all, as it happened, which more than stung.

“Duncan,” Celia said contemplatively. “He was here whenever I was after you were first admitted. Maybe even more.”

Alistair gave her a surprised look. “Really? I didn’t know that.”

“There seemed to be a bit of tension between him and your Uncle Eamon. Duncan kept his distance and I don’t think Eamon granted him permission to visit you in the ICU though Duncan clearly wanted to…” Celia gave him a questioning look but Alistair didn’t want to go into that with her. He would: but not right now. “But he was never far away.” Celia let out a tiny laugh. “He kept getting those electrolyte replacement drinks from the vending machine and leaving them next to me without comment. When I finally composed myself enough to ask why he said he was concerned about me becoming dehydrated from crying.”

“Sounds like Duncan,” Alistair said with a small smile and lapsed into thoughtfulness. He hadn’t talked to Duncan properly since the totally unexpected confession that he had bribed Alistair’s freedom from Hessarian’s by accusing Eamon of neglect. Alistair had been a little wounded by his failure to visit but Celia’s account made him realise Duncan was giving him space out of respect, or perhaps even a concern that Alistair was angry at him. He needed to change that. “Where’s my phone?” Celia pulled it from the charger and handed it to him so Alistair could fire off a quick invitation. Duncan replied in seconds.

Meanwhile, Celia’s phone also buzzed. She looked at the screen and groaned. “Tevinter,” she told him by way of explanation. He watched on as she cast her phone aside somewhere down the end of his bed and slumped back in the chair, massaging her temples.

“You really need a break from all this,” he told her worriedly.

“I’ve had a break! I haven’t done anything constructive or made any real progress for weeks.”

“Struggling to do something and not getting results isn’t really the same as a break. I was thinking a proper break.” Her mouth twisted uncertainly and he gave her a sympathetic look. “I know: you don’t feel like you can in Denerim. It’s why I was thinking…maybe when I’m discharged we could take a trip out of the city? A change of scenery. Is that too much? We don’t have to, but I thought we could visit Redcliffe. You said you always wanted to go.” Celia blinked at him. “We could do all the touristy things. Look at the windmill. Go inside the windmill. Photograph the windmill. Buy a tablecloth embroidered with the windmill…There’s also…a windmill…”

Celia’s weariness seemed to melt away and she did an excited wriggle in her chair. “I’d love that!”

“You would!?”

“Yes!” She smiled, her genuine enthusiasm was apparently irrepressible, much to his relief. “Why do you sound so surprised? You suggested it!”

“Was it the windmill that convinced you?” he joked.

“Absolutely. You had me at ‘windmill’. It sounds so…” she made a show of looking wistful, “windmill-y.”

“That it is,” he said sagely. “And we can visit the bins where we first met.”

Celia laughed at that. “Maker, you’re so romantic.” Alistair felt her phone vibrate against his leg and she groped for where she had discarded it. She glanced at the message and grimaced.

“What’s going on? Is it Tevinter again? Or do you need to leave?” he asked, hoping she didn’t but realising they were running out of time. Outside, the light was already fading.

“No. It’s just my parents. They’re coming to Denerim.”

“Why the long face? I would have thought you’d be eager to see them.”

“I am, but would you be?” she asked.

Alistair’s whole body did an involuntary twitch. “Come again?”

“You don’t have to say yes,” Celia quickly assured him. “I’ll just tell them you’re too unwell if you don’t want to. I’ve been putting them off but they won’t stop asking.”

“Do they have some concerns about the ethical ramifications of our, erm…being together. After they effectively hired me and then we…?”

“What?” she asked innocently.

“Canoodled. We canoodled a lot.”

“Canoodled?” she said with a vague smile as if recalling a pleasant memory – which he hoped she was. “I think my mum considers me getting a boyfriend as a bonus and fantastic value for money,” Celia said with an embarrassed laugh. “And Fergus gave you a glowing review so they’re both desperate to meet you.”

“Are you entirely certain it’s not in a ‘get this strange man away from our precious daughter’ way though? Because if your dad wants to duel he is certainly going to have the upper hand at the moment.”

“No way. They absolutely adore you. You saved my life remember?”

Alistair snorted at the notion. “What I remember is falling through a bathroom window – straight into a bin mind you - and then running about in a useless panic. Saving your life may be a little bit of a generous interpretation,” he told her drily.

Celia gave him a narrow look. “Given your modesty is making your retelling of events unreliable, it is fortunate that the security footage tells a different story.”

“Ah.” Alistair had forgotten about that minor detail.

“Security footage that my parents have seen. Security footage in which you smash through a window, confront a man with a gun barehanded, get shot protecting me and then kick down the door of a burning building.”

“That is certainly…one way of looking at it.”

“Maker you’ve gone absolutely crimson,” she said and leaned forward to kiss his temple in apology. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’ll tell them to stay away.”

“It’s fine. The more the merrier: my schedule is completely clear. And I…guess I’d be meeting them at some stage anyway,” he said, hoping he wasn’t being too presumptuous.

“Of course,” Celia said without hesitation and he felt like he was glowing from the inside just from her ready acceptance of that fact. “I’ll see if Fergus will come too if that’s alright? I don’t want to overwhelm you by filling the room with every member of my extended family but he might help manage my parents if they get too excitable.” Alistair wondered what that entailed and Celia picked up on his confused expression. “My dad talks more than _me,_ if you can believe it, and my mum is a hugger. They’re just so keen to meet you after hearing so much. You’re sure it’s okay?”

“I’ll risk it. For you.”

“Brave man. This is why I fell in love with you.”

“We don’t have enough time for me to list all the reasons I fell in love with you,” he told her seriously.

“Oh,” she said in a flustered way: her usual response to his flattery and one that he never got tired of. She picked up her phone to reply to her parents. “Look at the time. I really do have to leave.”

“Already?” he said, sounding pathetic even to his own ears even though he knew full well how late it was and that something Doreen had given him was making him increasingly sleepy.

Celia stood up and hovered over him. “I don’t want to,” she told him with undisguised remorse, peppering kisses over every inch of his face before walking away. Their hands remained clasped until the distance was too great and they were forced to let go, Alistair’s arm flopping heavily onto the mattress. “Same time tomorrow?” she asked.

“The team are coming tomorrow after morning training so…maybe come later?” She pulled a face. “You can come then. I just thought you might not want to. They’ll probably get kicked out after five minutes. You know what they’re like. Doreen will have their heads on pikes if they’re too rowdy. And if Marg sees how muddy they are she’ll chase them out with a mop.”

“No, that’s fine. I just…Your friends aren’t angry I nearly got you killed, are they?”

“Are you joking? They’ve managed to find the fact I got shot _hilarious_. They want me to try out as a goalie when I’m better because apparently I show a natural talent for using my body to stop fast moving objects,” he told her, rolling his eyes.

“Okay,” she said looking relieved even as she laughed. “I really have to go now. But I’ll see you very soon.” She blew him a kiss and walked away.

“Wait!” he called as she disappeared into the hall and her head popped back around the doorframe almost immediately. “I have something really important to tell you before you go.” Celia hurried back to his bedside, genuine concern on her face.

“What is it? Did they get the results from your scan? Your bloods?”

“It’s just that…” he eeked out the suspense a bit then told her, “I love you,” and broke into a broad grin.

“I think we already covered that part today,” she replied, trying to look annoyed and utterly failing.

“It wouldn’t kill you to hear it again, would it? _I love you_.”

Celia groaned, even as she smiled and bent over him, nudging her nose against his, whispering, “I love you too,” before she kissed him.

* * *

It was to be Eamon and Teagan’s last visit before they returned to Redcliffe. They had called in a number of times to find out about his condition, never staying for long but all the same: Alistair appreciated it.

“I’m really grateful you came all this way,” Alistair told them sincerely, thinking of Eamon’s own health and the trouble Isolde must be giving him for being here. “And I’m sorry to have caused such a fuss.”

Eamon inclined his head in acknowledgment from the chair beside the bed while Teagan, standing behind his brother, smiled. “I was intending to come and see you as soon as I was able, even before this happened,” Eamon told him.

“Really?” Alistair said, a little sceptically. His Uncle had never visited him before, even when he had been in Denerim for business.

“Yes. To talk to you about Theirin Industries.”

Alistair rolled his eyes so hard they might have fallen out his skull. He saw Tegan shift uncomfortably and fold his arms. “It’s over Eamon. I blew my chance.” And happily, he added mentally.

“I heard what happened. The board _liked_ that you didn’t let Cailan call the shots. Your walk out impressed them and showed you had a backbone. It was nothing short of a stroke of genius. You did well son.”

Alistair could hardly comprehend that this conversation was taking place. He had almost died and still all Eamon could harp on about was Theirin Industries. “Too bad because I’m never going back.”

Eamon’s lips tightened. “Don’t be flippant. You don’t have a choice. You must.”

“And what if I wanted to do something else?” Alistair guessed this was as good a time as any to tell Eamon about his application to teach PE and he opened his mouth to speak but Eamon scoffed, cutting him off.

“Something ambitious like languishing patrolling shopping centres with Duncan for the rest of your life? It was a mistake to give that man an opportunity to influence you,” Eamon said with disgust, apparently more to himself than to the room. Alistair felt a rush of hot, blistering anger but he swallowed it down. “This isn’t solely your decision to make. To deny your birthright would be pure selfishness.”

“No,” Alistair said firmly. “No Eamon. I’ve spent my whole life thinking that I owe you everything. But I don’t.” Eamon and Teagan had both gone very still and Alistair’s words seemed to hang in the air between them. “I’m grateful for what you’ve done for me, and for what you’ve tried to do for me, but if you truly have any concern for my happiness, then please let this be.”

Eamon regarded him with indifference. “It was never a question of happiness Alistair. That is a child’s notion. More important things are at stake than your happiness. You have a duty.” Alistair stared at Eamon in disbelief and the man appeared to compose himself a little. “You cannot truly fathom what you are turning down, the magnitude of the opportunity before-”

“Why? Why do you want this so much?” Alistair interrupted rudely, apparently surprising both himself and his uncle.

Eamon quickly recovered. “To _save_ Theirin Industries and raise you to where you are meant to be.”

“I don’t exactly make sport of watching the stock market but that company does not seem like it needs saving. At all.”

“It’s Anora,” Eamon said venomously. Teagan turned away and began staring out the window as if wishing he wasn’t in the room.

“Anora?”

“She has Cailan’s ear. She manipulates him. Her power in the company is growing steadily and Calilan does nothing to check her influence.”

“So? I liked her. She seems to know what she’s doing so why not leave her to it?” Alistair said dismissively.

“She cannot be allowed to continue to take such liberties. Someone needs to put her back in her place.”

Something occurred to Alistair. “Wait. Is Anora the reason you’re not on the Board of Directors anymore?”

Eamon didn’t answer the question but his murderous expression indicated affirmation. “She consistently oversteps! It’s not her place to have a say in these decisions!”

“Not her place? To what? Be good at her job? To be better at running the company than a Theirin? To be better than you would be? Maker forbid it how dare she,” Alistair said sarcastically.

Eamon was silent with barely contained fury, Alistair could see it in his flaring nostrils and stiff posture. To his own amazement, Alistair realised he didn’t care. For the first time in his life, his uncle’s good opinion seemed worthless. He knew he may think twice later and have some regrets or guilt but, in that moment, he felt liberated. He calmly met Eamon’s gaze.

“Watch your tone with me,” Eamon told him as Teagan moved to put a steadying hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“You always said you cared about me, but all I keep hearing is that you care about how I might be useful to you. I can’t make myself miserable and spend my whole life pretending to be something I’m not just to try and please you and probably still failing.”

Eamon rose and loomed over him. “Then you’re turning your back on me. After _everything_ I’ve done for you.”

“I’m doing no such thing. I’ve asked Celia to visit Redcliffe with me. It won’t be too soon obviously,” he said, gesturing down the length of his hospital bed, “but I hope we can see you when we do.”

“Impossible to say with my schedule, and I’m not sure we’d have space for guests,” Eamon replied coldly and in a way that distinctly reminded him of Isolde.

Alistair could have mentioned that Eamon lived in a manor with a huge array of guest bedrooms, not to mention a bedroom that up until today had been firmly considered _his_ , but instead he said calmly, “I had no intention of asking to stay with you: naturally we would prefer to arrange our own accommodation.”

“Let me know when you make it down,” Teagan interrupted as Eamon went to speak. “I’d love to see you both: we can arrange a meal.” Eamon glowered at his brother.

“Celia comes from a very old family. A good family,” Eamon said, regarding Alistair once more.

“So I understand?” Alistair replied, immediately confused at the abrupt change of topic.

“Eamon,” Teagan said quietly. “Don’t.”

But Eamon disregarded his brother’s warning. “Her father is a very reputable academic and notable public figure. I would hate to think that he may be unaware of his daughter's…entanglement with someone who would turn down the opportunity of a lifetime while having absolutely no other prospects to recommend him.” It was a threat, and not even a particularly subtle one, Alistair realised. Eamon was clearly getting desperate and he almost felt sorry for him. “You might reconsider taking up your role in the company if you intend to pursue the girl. Families like that have expectations.”

“You’ve gone too far,” Teagan said and gave Alistair a concerned look.

Alistair leaned back against his pillow, entirely unalarmed. He thought of Bryce discovering their shared love of football and them talking at length about the league.

And he thought of Eleanor asking for permission to hug him, wrapping him up in a warm embrace then immediately bursting into tears and being roundly scolded by her embarrassed daughter for it.

And about Fergus’s toddler Oren, sitting on the end of his bed, shyly offering Alistair his favourite griffon toy with a hesitant smile while Oriana gasped and said he normally wouldn’t part with it for anyone.

He thought of the easy chatter filling the room. Of the whole family listening with rapt attention as Alistair recounted Celia defending him against Charles Farthington: a few comedic flourishes and impersonations sending them into raucous laughter that prompted a warning to be quiet from the nurse.

And of Celia perching on the edge of the bed and taking his hand, while her parents turned to each other to exchange unconcealed looks of delight.

Snapping back to the present, Alistair gave his uncle a steady look. “Don’t trouble yourself to warn Bryce about me,” Alistair told him, smugly registering Eamon’s surprise at the use of a first name. “Celia’s parents actually introduced us…”

* * *

They crested the hill and the view of Redcliffe was stunning in the warm, dusky light of sunset. The lake glinted like burnished metal as the gentlest of breezes barely disturbed its surface while the fields of swaying wheat glowed golden. Even the village looked its picture book best, with the historical cottages and shops all the size of children’s toys from their vantage point.

“Maker,” Celia panted, turning around to take it all in as she caught her breath, hands on her hips.

“Right?” he said proudly, gesturing at the view.

“Fine Alistair. It was worth the struggle. I know I complained the entire way up but I have to admit: it is beautiful.”

“So are you.”

She smiled broadly and looked at him from the corner of her eye. “I’m worth the struggle? Or beautiful?”

“No struggle, just beautiful,” he answered quickly.

“Oof,” she said to an imaginary audience while slapping a hand over her heart. “He’s good.”

Alistair bowed slightly with a chuckle. “I do my best.”

“I thought you’d lost your mind when you said you wanted to drag me up a mountain and insisted I would enjoy it.”

“It’s a hill, not a mountain,” Alistair corrected her automatically, and not for the first time that day.

“It _is_ a mountain,” she protested stubbornly. “If you say ‘hill’ one more time, I’m going to make you give me a piggy back ride the whole way down.”

“Fair enough: it’s a deal,” he said, sitting heavily on the ground amongst the wildflowers and stretching out his legs.

“Really? That easy?”

“I aim to please.”

She lowered herself carefully down beside him, hugging her knees and leaning against his side. “If I had known it was that simple, I would have asked you to carry me _up_ too.”

“Lucky for me you didn’t think of that. You’re cold?”

She snuggled a little closer. “I’m perfect.”

They were silent for a long time, enjoying the sunset and each other’s company. Alistair kept shooting glances at her and every time he did, he felt so elated his heart was fit to burst. Celia had been chosen for the job at Denerim University and was looking forward to starting in a few weeks. While happy for her, Alistair was so glad that he had recovered enough for them to be able to make this trip first. It was amazing to spend the time away from Denerim where they had recently suffered so much stress.

Celia relaxed more by the day here and nothing made him happier than to hear her start to talk about her research again with tentative enthusiasm. Knowing that her new job meant she was committed to staying in Denerim for at least a further six months made him beyond ecstatic, and after that, they had agreed to reassess. But Alistair wasn’t worried: he had confidence in her and he had confidence in them. Whatever they decided next, it would be together.

And there wasn’t a single unpacked box left in her flat.

Now they were in _his_. Even Mittens had moved in, leaving copious amounts of hair on Alistair’s (never Celia’s) pillow, sleeping on his gaming console then hissing at him when he tried to use it and occasionally raking his claws down Alistair’s leg in ‘affectionate’ greeting.

Celia and Alistair had made a valiant attempt to follow nigh on everyone’s advice to take things slowly but they both got very tired, very quickly of pretending they weren’t certain. That they didn’t _know_. It was frustrating acting like it made sense to have two leases when Celia had a toothbrush permanently beside his. When the fridge in her flat was almost completely empty because they always ate together. When the few nights they had tried to spend apart after he was released from the hospital were either totally restless or ended with one of them knocking sheepishly on the other’s door.

 _“I was worried about you,”_ Celia would offer by way of explanation, barefoot at his threshold with her arms wrapped around herself.

 _“I missed you,”_ Alistair would reply, ushering her in, wondering silently what had taken her so long.

Celia let out a contented sigh, almost as if she was revisiting the same memory. Surfacing from his daydream, Alistair realised he’d begun absentmindedly winding a lock of her hair around his finger and that the sun had nearly completely dipped below the horizon. Stars were beginning to peek through and they would need to leave soon. It would be easy enough to follow the path down by moonlight but the temperature was starting to drop.

He decided to seize the moment. “I’ve been waiting to tell you something.”

He felt her straighten beside him, suddenly alert. “Uh oh? This sounds serious.” She put her hand between his shoulder blades and began to rub his back. Alistair felt dizzied and warm with gratitude at how swift her instinct was to comfort him. But it wasn’t bad news.

“I got in. To study to teach Phys Ed. I was accepted.”

Her hand stilled. He watched the information process slowly, a smile spreading across her entire face, her eyes crinkling so much they almost closed.

“Alistair! That’s so…!” She hurled herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck as he let himself topple backwards onto the grass, Celia landing on his chest in a not entirely unfamiliar action. “Oh _no_ ,” she immediately fretted, tracing her fingers lightly up his side in the rough vicinity of where the bullet had gone. “Did I hurt you?”

“Not a bit,” he assured her.

Their faces were close and Celia’s eyes were sparkling with excitement. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

She lightly kissed the end of his nose. “Yes, you could have.”

“Maybe. But I never would have tried. Thank you.”

Celia was obviously fighting back a smile. “And when you are cramming for exams, out all day at pracs and then staying up half the night to write essays? _Then_ see if you want to thank me.”

“You’re clearly trying to intimidate me with these scenarios, but I note you can’t fully hide your excitement. ‘Oooh _huge_ essays, _long_ pracs, _hard_ exams’,” Alistair chirped, impersonating her.

“Excuse me,” Celia said, regarding him aloofly with one eyebrow arched, “are you making fun of me or getting off on this?”

“Oh the latter. Absolutely,” he told her, equal parts candour and glee. She laughed, lowering herself for a lingering kiss.

She pulled back, he felt prematurely, and Alistair objected with a grumble. But Celia looked suddenly troubled. “Wait,” she told him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured her, his hands slipping to her waist, attempting to pull her closer as he raised his head trying to initiate another kiss. Celia titled her face away and his lips only brushed her jaw. Concerned now, Alistair drew back, his forehead creasing with confusion.

“No Alistair, this is important. Listen to me.” She planted her hands on either side of him and pushed herself up, hovering over him anxiously, her hair falling down to curtain his face.

“Alright. You have my full attention,” he said seriously. He kept his hands lightly on her waist and went perfectly still, watching her carefully.

Celia took a deep breath. “If you want me to help you study, I will.”

Alistair snorted. “Is that all? I figured that probably went without saying.”

“Yes. But if you want me to mind my own business and leave you to it, just tell me. And I will. I promise I won’t interfere. I’m proud of you no matter what.”

“Celia…” he said affectionately to try and interrupt her, but she was determined to continue.

“And if you decide to drop out after a week or a month or two years or whenever because it isn’t what you want to be doing then I’ll support you. I’m glad you’re trying this, but you don’t have to see it through if it makes you unhappy. I mean it Alistair,” she told him emphatically. He moved his hands to her hips, giving them a firm tug so that her arms gave out and she fell against him with an adorable little ‘oof’. But apparently, Celia still would not be distracted, insisting with urgency, “Whatever happens, I’m on your side and I love you.”

He buried his hands in her hair and finally pulled her down so he could kiss her again. “I know,” he murmured against her lips. “I _know_ you are. I know you do.” And he really believed it, Alistair realised with a rush of warmth even as he said it. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sure you all knew Alistair would be fine but I still I felt bad withholding the confirmation of it even this long. Now I don't know who you are but I saw that sudden surge of subscribers just for last chapter haha. I sympathise. But look! He’s okay! I’m not a monster! I hope the revolting fluff and Eamon smack down make up for it!
> 
> So this was originally the end of the fic…but there is one more bonus chapter to come so please do stick around if you can endure a little more. Thank you so much for being here and reading. I can't say it enough. Though it has been a pet project this fic has felt like an marathon at times and knowing I've had a even a few people trundling along with me has been incredibly motivating.


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